



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT! 








AUTHOR'S EDITION 


WORKS OF 
ANTHONY HOPE 

With Preface and Notes 
by the Author, and 
Photogravure Illustration 


B A L I O L 

Limited to One Thousand 
Sets, of which this is 

Numb e r 












* 
























































A CHANGE OF 
AIR and A MAN 
OF MARK 4 4 


By A N T H 

O 

N Y 

H 

OPE 

I L L U S 

T 

R A 

T 

E D 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 







T23 

, H 3 1 C !r] 

g 


the library of 

CONGRESS, 

Tw« Copies Received 

OCT 3 >903 

Copyright Entry 

t V 0 V 

CLASS ec XXo. No. 

U* A ( * % 
COPY A. 


Copyright, 1902, by 
ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS 


All rights reserved 



A Change of Air 
Copyright, 1894, by 
Henry Holt A Co. 


A Man of Mark 
Copyright, 1895, by 
Henry Holt A Co. 


CONTENTS 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Mission to the Heathen ... 1 

II. The New Man at Littlehill . . 6 

III. Denborough Determines to Call . .14 

IV. A Quiet Sunday Afternoon . . .23 

V. The Necessary Scapegoat . . .32 

VI. Littlehill Goes into Society . . .42 

VII. “ To a Pretty Saint ” . . . .52 

VIII. An Indiscreet Disciple . . . .61 

IX. Dale’s Own Opinion . . . .70 

X. A Prejudiced Verdict . . . .79 

XI. A Fable About Birds . . . .89 

XII. A Dedication — and a Desecration . . 96 

XIII. The Responsibilities of Genius . .104 

XIV. Mr. Delane Likes the Idea . . .112 

XV. How it Seemed to the Doctor . .120 

XVI. “No More Kings” 128 

XVII. Dale Tries His Hand at an Ode . 139 
XVIII. Delilah Johnstone . . . . .146 

XIX. A Well-Paid Poem . . . .153 

XX. An Evening’s End 160 


CONTENTS 


XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 
XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 


44 The Other Girl Did ” 

The Fitness of Things . 

A Morbid Scruple . 

The Heroine of the Incident 
The Scene of the Outrage . 
Against Her Better Judgment 
A Villain Unmasked 
A Vision .... 


. 166 
. 173 
. 181 
. 188 
. 198 
. 207 
. 214 
. 221 


vi 


CONTENTS 


A MAN OF MARK 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Movement and the Man ... 1 

II. A Financial Expedient .... 6 

III. An Excess of Authority . . . .16 

IV. Overtures from the Opposition . . .22 

V. I Appreciate the Situation . . . .35 

VI. Mourons Pour La Patrie ! ... 46 

VII. The Mine is Laid . . . . .57 

VIII. Johnny Carr is Wilful . . . .65 

IX. A Supper Party . . . . . .75 

X. Two Surprises . . . . . .79 

XI. Dividing the Spoils . . . . .93 

XII. Between Two Fires . . . . .105 

XIII. I Work upon Human Nature . . .118 

XIV. Farewell to Aureataland . . . .128 

XV. A Diplomatic Arrangement . . .141 


vii 


A CHANGE OF AIR 








A CHANGE OF AIR 


CHAPTER I 

A MISSION TO THE HEATHEN 

When the Great King, that mirror of a majesty 
whereof modern times have robbed the world, re- 
coiled aghast from the threatened indignity of hav- 
ing to wait, he laid his finger with a true touch on 
a characteristic incident of the lot of common men, 
from which it was seemly that the state of God’s 
Vicegerents should be free. It was a small matter, 
no doubt, a thing of manners merely and etiquette ; 
yet manners and etiquette are first the shadowed 
expression of facts and then the survival of them, 
the reverence once paid to power, and now ac- 
corded, in a strange mixture of chivalry and calcu- 
lation, to mere place whence power has fled. The 
day of vicegerents is gone, and the day of officers 
has come; and it is not unknown that officers 
should have to wait, or even, such is the insolence, 
no longer of office but of those who give it, should 
altogether go without. Yet, although everybody 
has now to wait, everybody has not to wait the 
same length of time. For example, a genius needs 
not wait so long for what he wants as a fool — un- 
less, as chances now and then, he be both a genius 
and a fool, when probably his waiting will be utterly 
without end. 

In a small flat in Chelsea, very high towards 
1 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


heaven, there sat one evening in the summer, two 
young men and a genius ; and the younger of the 
young men, whose name was Arthur Angell, said 
discontentedly to the genius, 

“ The brute only sent me ten and sixpence. 
What did you get for yours? ” 

The genius blushed and murmured apologeti- 
cally, 

“ That agent chap I’ve sold myself to got twenty 
pounds for it.” 

The second young man, who was not so young, 
being, in fact, well turned of thirty, and growing 
bald, took his pipe out of his mouth, and, pointing 
the stem first at the genius, then at Arthur Angell, 
and lastly, like a knife, at his own breast, said, 

“Pounds — shillings — and pence. He sent me 
nothing at all.” 

A pause followed, and the genius began : 

“ Look here, you fellows — ” But Philip Hume 
went on : “ Ten and sixpence is a good sum of 
money, a comfortable sum of money, and, my dear 
Arthur, I should say the full value of your poem. 
As to Dale’s poem, who knows the value of Dale’s 
poem? By what rod shall you measure — ” He 
broke off with a laugh at Dale’s gesture of protest. 

“ I’m making the deuce of a lot of money,” said 
Dale in an awestruck tone. “ It’s rolling in. I 
don’t know what to do with it.” 

“ Littlehill will swallow it,” said Philip. 

“ You don’t mean that he sticks to that idea? ” 
exclaimed Arthur. “ You don’t, do you, Dale ? ” 

“ I do,” answered Dale. “ I’m not going perma- 
nently. I’m not going to forsake our old ways or 
our old life. I’m not going to turn into a rich 
man.” 


2 


A MISSION TO THE HEATHEN 


“ I hope not, by Jove ! ” cried Arthur. 

“ But I want to see the country — I’ve not seen 
it for years. And I want to see country people, 
and — and ” 

“ It’ll end in our losing you,” prophesied Arthur 
gloomily. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Dale, flushing a little. “ It’ll 
end in nothing of the sort. I’ve only taken the 
house for a year.” 

“A gentleman’s residence,” said Philip: “five 
sitting-rooms, twelve bedrooms, offices, stabling, 
and three acres of grounds.” 

Arthur groaned. 

“ It sounds a villa all over,” he said. 

“ Not at all,” said Dale sharply ; “ it’s a country 
house.” 

“ Is there any difference? ” asked Arthur scorn- 
fully. 

“ All the difference,” said Philip, “ as you would 
know if you moved in anything approaching re- 
spectable circles.” 

“I’m glad I don’t,” said Arthur. “What will 
respectable circles say to The Clarion , eh, Dale ? ” 

“ Who cares what they say ? ” laughed Dale. 
“ They seem to buy it.” 

Arthur looked at him with revengeful eye, and 
suddenly inquired, 

“ What about Nellie ? ” 

“ That’s just the delightful part of it,” answered 
Dale eagerly. “ Nellie’s been seedy ever so long, 
you know. She was ordered perfect rest and 
country air. But it didn’t run to it.” 

“ It never ran to anything here,” said Philip in a 
tone of dispassionate acquiescence in facts, “till 
you became famous.” 


3 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“Now I can help !” pursued Dale. “She and 
Mrs. Hodge are coming to pay me a long visit. 
Of course, Phil’s going to be there permanently. 
You’ll come too, Arthur ? ” 

At first Arthur Angell said he would not go near 
a villa, he could not breathe in a villa, or sleep quiet 
o’ nights in a villa ; but presently he relented. 

“ I can’t stand it for long, though,” he said. 
“ Still, I’m glad you’re going to have Nellie there. 
She’d have missed you awfully. When do you 
go?” 

“ Actually, to-morrow. I’m not used to it yet.” 

Arthur shook his head again, as he put on his hat. 

“Well, good-night,” said he. “I hope it’s all 
right.” 

Dale waited till the door was closed behind his 
guest, and then laughed good-humouredly. 

“ I like old Arthur,” he said. “ He’s so keen and 
in earnest about it. But it’s all bosh. What differ- 
ence can it make whether I live in London or the 
country ? And it’s only for a little while.” 

“ He begins to include you in the well-to-do 
classes, and suspects you accordingly,” replied 
Philip. 

There was a knock at the door, and a pretty girl 
came in. 

“ Oh, I ran up,” she said, “ to ask whether this hat 
would do for Denshire. I don’t want to disgrace 
you, Dale ; ” and she held up a hat she carried in 
her hand. 

“ It would do for Paradise,” said Dale. “ Be- 
sides, there isn’t going to be any difference at all 
in Denshire. We are going to be and do and 
dress just as we are and do and dress here. Aren’t 
we, Phil?” 


4 


A MISSION TO THE HEATHEN 


“ That is the scheme,” said Philip. 

u We shall care for no one’s opinion,” pursued 
Dale, warming to his subject. “We shall be ab- 
solutely independent. We shall show them that 
their way of living is not the only way of living. 
We ” 

“ In fact, Nellie,” interrupted Philip, “we shall 
open their eyes considerably. So we flatter our- 
selves.” 

“ It’s not that at all,” protested Dale. 

“You can’t help it, Dale,” said Nellie, smiling 
brightly at him. “ Of course they will open their 
eyes at the great Mr. Bannister. We all open our 
eyes at him, don’t we, Mr. Hume? Well, then, 
the hat will do? — as a week-day hat, I mean.” 

“ A week-day hat ? ” repeated Philip. “ Dear 
old phrase! It recalls one’s happy church-going 
youth. Have you also provided a Sunday hat ? ” 

“ Of course, Mr. Hume.” 

“ And, Dale, have you a Sunday coat ? ” 

Dale laughed. 

“ It’s a pretty excuse for pretty things, Phil,” he 
said. “ Let Nellie have her Sunday hat. I doubt 
if they’ll let me into the church.” 

Philip stretched out his hand and took up a glass 
of whisky and water which stood near him. 

“ I drink to the success of the expedition,” said 
he. 

“ To the success of our mission ! ’ ’ cried Dale 
gaily, raising his glass. “We will spread the 
iight ! ” 

“ Here’s to Dale Bannister, apostle in partibus!” 
and Philip drank the toast. 


5 


CHAPTER II 


THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEHILL 

Market Denborough is not a large town. Per- 
haps it is none the worse for that, and, if it be, 
there is compensation to be found in its pict- 
uresqueness, its antiquity, and its dignity ; for there 
has been a town where it stands from time imme- 
morial, it makes a great figure in county histories 
and local guide-books, it is an ancient corporation, 
an assize town and quarter-sessions borough. It 
does not grow, for country towns, dependent solely 
on the support of the rural districts surrounding, 
are not given to growing much now-a-days. More- 
over, the Delanes do not readily allow new houses 
to be built, and if a man lives in Market Denbor- 
ough, he must be a roofless vagrant or a tenant of 
Mr. Delane. It is not the place to make a fortune ; 
but, on the other hand, unusual recklessness is nec- 
essary to the losing of one there. If the triumphs 
of life are on a small scale, the struggle for exist- 
ence is not very fierce, and a wise man might do 
worse than barter the uncertain chances and preca- 
rious joys of a larger stage, to play a modest, easy, 
quiet part on the little boards of Market Den- 
borough. 

It must not, however, be supposed that the lion 
and the lamb have quite sunk their differences, and 
lain down together at Market Denborough. There, 
as elsewhere, the millennium tarries, and there are 
not wanting fierce feuds, personal, municipal, nay, 
6 


THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEHILL 


even, within the wide limits of Mr. Delane’s toler- 
ance, political. If it were not so, the Mayor would 
not have been happy, for the Mayor loved a fight ; 
and Alderman Johnstone, who was a Radical, would 
have felt his days wasted ; and the two gentlemen 
would not have been, as they continually were, at 
loggerheads concerning paving-contracts and kin- 
dred subjects. There was no want of interests in 
life, if a man were ready to take his own part and 
keep a sharp eye on the doings of his neighbour. 
Besides, the really great events of existence hap- 
pened at Market Denborough much as they do in 
London : people were born, and married, and died ; 
and while that rotation is unchecked, who can be 
seriously at a loss for matter of thought or topic of 
conversation ? 

As Mr. James Roberts, member of the Royal 
College of Surgeons, a thin young man, with rest- 
less eyes and tight-shut lips, walked down High 
Street one hot, sunny afternoon, it never entered 
his head that there was not enough to think about 
in Market Denborough. Wife and child, rent, 
rates, and taxes, patients and prescriptions, the re- 
lation between those old enemies, incomings and 
outgoings, — here was food enough for any man’s 
meditations. Enough ? Ay, enough and to spare 
of such distasteful, insipid, narrow, soul-destroying 
stuff. Mr., or, to give him the brevet rank all the 
town gave him, Dr. Roberts hated these sordid, 
imperious interests that gathered round him and 
hemmed him in, shutting out all else — all dreams 
of ambition, all dear long-harboured schemes, all 
burning enthusiasms, even all chance of seeking 
deeper knowledge and more commanding skill. 
Sadly and impatiently the Doctor shook his head, 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


trying to put his visions on one side, and nail his 
mind down to its work. His first task was to turn 
£300 a year into £600. It was hard it should be 
so, and he chafed against necessity, forgetting, as 
perhaps he pardonably might, that the need was the 
price he paid for wife and child. Yes, it was hard ; 
but so it was. If only more people would be — no, 
but if only more people who were ill would call in 
Dr. Roberts ! Then he could keep two horses, and 
not have to “ pad the hoof,” as he phrased it to 
himself, about sweltering streets or dusty lanes all 
the long afternoon, because his one pony was tired 
out with carrying him in the morning to Dirkham, 
a village five miles off, where he was medical officer 
at a salary of forty pounds by the year. That was 
forty, and Ethel had a hundred, and the profits 
from his paying patients (even if you allowed for 
the medicine consumed by those who did not pay) 
were about a hundred and fifty. But then the bills 
— Oh, well, he must go on. The second horse 
must wait, and that other dream of his, having an 
assistant, that must wait too. If he had an assist- 
ant, he would have some leisure for research, for 
reading, for studying the political and social ques- 
tions where his real and engrossing interest lay. 
He could then take his part in the mighty work of 
rousing — 

Here his meditations were interrupted. He 
had reached, in his progress down the street, a 
large plate-glass-windowed shop, the shop of a 
chemist, and of no less a man than Mr. James 
Hedger, Mayor of Market Denborough. The 
member of the lower branch of their common art 
was a richer man than he who belonged to the 
higher, and when Mr. Hedger was playfully charged 
8 


THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEHILL 


with giving the young Doctor his medicines cheap, 
he never denied the accusation. Anyhow, the two 
were good friends, and the Mayor, who was sur- 
veying his dominions from his doorstep, broke in 
on Dr. Roberts’ train of thought with a cheerful 
greeting. 

“ Have you heard the news ? ” he asked. 

“ No ; I’ve no time for the news. I always look 
to you for it, Mr. Mayor.” 

“ It mostly comes round to me, being a centre, 
like,” said the Mayor. “ It’s natural.” 

“ W ell, what is it this time ? ” asked the Doctor, 
calling up a show of interest. He did not care 
much for Denborough news. 

“ Littlehill’s let,” replied the Mayor. 

Littlehill, the subject of Philip Hume’s half- 
ironical description, was a good house, standing on 
rising ground about half a mile outside the town. 
It belonged, of course, to Mr. Delane, and had 
stood empty for more than a year. A tenant at 
Littlehill meant an increase of custom for the 
tradespeople, and perchance for the doctors. Hence 
the importance of the Mayor’s piece of news. 

“ Indeed ? ” said Roberts. “ Who’s taken it ? ” 

“Not much good — a young man, a bachelor,” 
said the Mayor, shaking his head. Bachelors do 
not require, or anyhow do not take, many chemists’ 
drugs. “ Still, I hear he’s well-off, and p’raps he’ll 
have people to stop with him.” 

“ What’s his name ? ” 

“ Some name like Bannister. He’s from Lon- 
don.” 

“ What’s he coming here for ? ” asked Roberts 
who, if he had been a well-to-do bachelor, would 
not have settled at Market Denborough. 

2 9 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Why shouldn’t he ? ” retorted the Mayor, who 
had never lived, or thought of living, anywhere else. 

“ Well, I shouldn’t have thought he’d have 
found much to do. He wouldn’t come in the 
summer for the hunting.” 

“ Hunting? Not he! He’s a literary gentle- 
man — writes poetry and what not.” 

“ Poetry ? Why, it’s not Dale Bannister, is it ? ” 

“ Ay, that’s the name.” 

“ Dale Bannister coming to Littlehill ! That is 
an honour for the town ! ” 

“ An honour ? What do you mean, sir ? ” 

“ Why, he’s a famous man, Mr. Mayor. All 
London’s talking of him.” 

“ I never heard his name in my life before,” said 
the Mayor. 

“ Oh, he’s a genius. His poems are all the rage. 
You’ll have to read them now.” 

“ He’s having a lot done up there,” remarked the 
Mayor. “ Johnstone’s got the job. Mr. Bannister 
don’t know as much about Johnstone as some of 
us.” 

“ How should he ? ” said Roberts, smiling. 

“Johnstone’s buildin’ ’im a room. It’ll tumble 
down.” 

“ Oh, come, Mr. Mayor, you’re prejudiced.” 

“No man can say that of me, sir. But I knows 
— I know J ohnstone, Doctor. That’s where it is ! ” 

“Well, I hope Johnstone’s room won’t fall on 
him. We can’t spare Dale Bannister. Good- 
day, Mr. Mayor.” 

“ Where are you goin’ ? ” 

“To Tom Steadman’s.” 

“ Is he bad again ? ” inquired the Mayor, with 
interest. 


10 


THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEHILL 


“Yes. He broke out last week, with the usual 
result.” 

“Broke out? Yes! He had two gallons of 
beer and a bottle o’ gin off the ‘ Blue Lion ’ in one 
day, the landlord told me.” 

“ They ought to go to prison for serving him.” 

“Well, well, a man drinks or he don’t,” said the 
Mayor tolerantly; “and if he does, he’ll get it 
some’ow. Good-day, sir.” 

The Doctor completed his rounds, including the 
soothing of Tom Steadman’s distempered imag- 
ination, and made his way home in quite a flutter 
of excitement. Hidden away in his study, under- 
neath heavy medical works and voluminous med- 
ical journals, where the eye of patients could not 
reach, nor the devastations of them that tidy dis- 
turb, lay the two or three little volumes which held 
Dale Bannister’s poems. The Doctor would not 
have admitted that the poems were purposely con- 
cealed, but he certainly did not display them os- 
tentatiously, and he undoubtedly told his wife, 
with much decision, that he was sure they would 
not prove to her taste. Yet he himself almost 
worshipped them ; all the untamed revolt, the 
recklessness of thought, the scorn of respectability, 
the scant regard to what the world called propriety, 
which he had nourished in his own heart in his 
youth, finding no expression for them, and from 
which the binding chains of fate seemed now for 
ever to restrain his spirit, were in those three slim 
volumes. First came The Clarion and other Poems , 
a very small book, published by a very small firm, 
— published for the author, though the Doctor did 
not know this, and circulated at the expense of the 
same ; then Sluggards , from a larger firm, the 
11 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


source of some few guineas to Dale Bannister, of 
hundreds more if he had not sold his copyright ; 
and lastly, The Hypocrite's Heaven , quite a lengthy 
production, blazoning the name of the leading 
house of all the trade, and bearing in its train a 
wealth of gold, and praise, and fame for the author : 
yes, and of rebuke, remonstrance, blame, and hands 
uplifted in horror at so much vice united to so 
much genius. Praise and rebuke alike brought 
new bricks to build the pyramid of glory; and on 
the top of it, an object of abhorrence and of wor- 
ship, stood the young poet, prodigally scattering 
songs, which, as one critic of position said of them, 
should never have been written, but, being written, 
could never die. Certainly the coming of such a 
man to settle there was an event for Market Den- 
borough; it was a glorious chance for the poet’s 
silent, secret disciple. He would see the man ; he 
might speak with him ; if fortune willed, his name 
might yet be known, for no merit of his, but as 
that of Dale Bannister’s friend. 

Women have very often, and the best of women 
most often, a provoking sedateness of mind. Mrs. 
Roberts had never read the poems. True, but she 
had of course read about them, and about their 
author, and about their certain immortality ; yet 
she was distinctly more interested in the tidings of 
Tom Steadman, a wretched dipsomaniac, than in 
the unparalleled news about Dale Bannister. In her 
heart she thought the Doctor a cleverer, as she had 
no doubt he was a better, man than the poet, and the 
nearest approach she made to grasping the real sig- 
nificance of the situation was when she remarked, 

“ It will be nice for him to find one man, at all 
events, who can appreciate him.” 

12 


THE NEW MAN AT LITTLEHILL 


The Doctor smiled ; he was pleased — who would 
not be? — that his wife should think first of the 
pleasure Dale Bannister would find in his society. 
It was absurd, but it was charming of her, and as 
she sat on the edge of his chair, he put his arm 
round her waist and said, 

44 I beat him in one thing, anyhow. ” 

“ What’s that, Jim ? ” 

44 My wife. He has no wife like mine.” 

44 Has he a wife at all ? ” asked Mrs. Roberts, 
with increased interest. A wife was another mat- 
ter. 

44 1 believe not, but if he had ” 

44 Don’t be silly. Did you leave Tom quiet ? ” 

44 Hang Tom ! he deserves it. And give me my 
tea.” 

Then came the baby, and with it an end, for the 
time, of Dale Bannister. 


13 


CHAPTER III 


DENBOROUGH DETERMINES TO CALL 

“I will awake the world,” Dale Bannister had once 
declared in the insolence of youth and talent and 
the privacy of a gathering of friends. The boast 
was perhaps as little absurd in his mouth as it could 
ever be ; yet it was very absurd, for the world 
sleeps hard, and habit has taught it to slumber 
peacefully through the batterings of impatient 
genius at its door. At the most, it turns uneasily 
on its side, and, with a curse at the meddlesome 
fellow, snores again. So Dale Bannister did not 
awake the world. But, within a month of his com- 
ing to Littlehill, he performed an exploit which 
was, though on a smaller scale, hardly less remark- 
able. He electrified Market Denborough, and the 
shock penetrated far out into the surrounding dis- 
tricts of Denshire, — even Denshire, which, remote 
from villas and season-tickets, had almost preserved 
pristine simplicity. Men spoke with low-voiced 
awe and appreciative twinkling of the eye of the 
“doings” at Littlehill; their wives thought that 
they might be better employed ; and their children 
hung about the gates to watch the young man and 
his guests come out. There was disappointment 
when no one came to church from Littlehill ; yet 
there would have been disappointment if any one 
had: it would have jarred with the fast-growing 
popular conception of the household. To the 
strictness of Denborough morality, by which no sin 
H 


DENBOROUGH DETERMINES TO CALL 


was leniently judged save drunkenness, Littlehill 
seemed a den of jovial wickedness, and its inhabi- 
tants to reck nothing of censure, human or divine. 

As might be expected by all who knew him, the 
Mayor had no hand in this hasty and uncharitable 
judgment. London was no strange land to him; 
he went up four times a year to buy his stock ; 
London ways were not Denshire ways, he ad- 
mitted, but, for all that, they were not to be con- 
demned offhand nor interpreted in the worst light 
without some pause for better knowledge. 

“ It takes all sorts to make a world,” said he, as 
he drank his afternoon draught at the “ Delane 
Arms,” where the civic aristocracy was wont to 
gather. 

“ He’s free enough and to spare with ’is money,” 
said Alderman Johnstone, with satisfaction. 

“ You ought to know, Johnstone,” remarked the 
Mayor significantly. 

“Well, I didn’t see no ’arm in him,” said Mr. 
Maggs, the horse-dealer, a rubicund man of pleas- 
ant aspect ; “ and he’s a rare ’un to deal with.” 

Interest centred on Mr. Maggs. Apparently 
he had spoken with Dale Bannister. 

“ He’s half crazy, o’ course,” continued that gen- 
tleman, “ but as pleasant-spoken, ’earty a young 
gent as I’ve seen.” 

“ Is he crazy ? ” asked the girl behind the bar. 

“Well, what do you say? He came down a 
day or two ago, ’e and ’is friend Mr. ’Ume ” 

“ Hume,” said the Mayor, with emphasis. The 
Mayor, while occasionally following the worse, saw 
the better way. 

“Yes, ’Ume. Mr. Bannister wanted a ’orse. 
6 What’s your figger, sir ? ’ says I. He took no 
15 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


notice, but began looking at me with ’is eyes wide 
open, for all the world as if I’d never spoke. Then 
he says, fi I want a ’orse, broad-backed and fallen 
in the vale o’ years.’ Them was ’is very words.” 

“ You don’t say ? ” said the girl. 

“ 1 never knowed what he meant, no more than 
that pint-pot ; but Mr. ’Ume laughed and says, 
‘Don’t be a fool, Dale,’ and told me that Mr. 
Bannister couldn’t ride no more than a tailor, — 
so he said, — and wanted a steady, quiet ’orse. He 
got one from me — four-and-twenty year old, war- 
ranted not to gallop. I see ’im on her to- day — and 
it’s lucky she is quiet.” 

“ Can’t he ride ? ” 

“No more than” — a fresh simile failed Mr. 
Maggs, and he concluded again — “that pint-pot. 
But Mr. ’Ume can. ’E’s a nice set on a ’orse.” 

The Mayor had been meditating. He was a lit- 
tle jealous of Mr. Maggs’ superior intimacy with 
the distinguished stranger, or perhaps it was merely 
that he was suddenly struck with a sense of re- 
missness in his official duties. 

“ I think,” he announced, “ of callin’ on him and 
welcomin’ him to the town.” 

There was a chorus of approbation, broken only 
by a sneer from Alderman Johnstone. 

“ Ay, and take ’im a bottle of that cod-liver oil 
of yours at two-and-three. ’E can afford it.” 

“ Not after payin’ your bill, Johnstone,” retorted 
the Mayor, with a triumphant smile. A neat rep- 
artee maketh glad the heart of the utterer. 

The establishment at Littlehill and the proper 
course to be pursued in regard to it were also the 
subject of consideration in circles more genteel 
even than that which gathered at the “Delane 
16 


DENBOROUGH DETERMINES TO CALL 


Arms.” At Dirkham Grange itself the topic was 
discussed, and Mr. Delane was torn with doubts 
whether his duty as landlord called upon him to 
make Dale Bannister’s acquaintance, or his duty 
as custodian-general of the laws and proprieties of 
life in his corner of the world forbade any sanction 
being given to a household of which such reports 
were on the wing. People looked to the Squire, 
as he was commonly called, for guidance in social 
matters, and he was aware of the responsibility 
under which he lay. If he called at Littlehill, 
half the county would be likely enough to follow 
his example. And perhaps it might not be good 
for half the county to know Dale Bannister. 

44 1 must consider the matter,” he said at break- 
fast. 

44 Well, one does hear strange things,” remarked 
Mrs. Delane. 44 And aren’t his poems very odd, 
George ? ” 

The Squire had not accorded to the works re- 
ferred to a very close study, but he answered off- 
hand, 

44 Yes, I hear so — not at all sound in tone. But 
then, my dear, poets have a standard of their 
own.” 

44 Of course, there was Byron,” said Mrs. Delane. 

44 And perhaps we mustn’t be too hard on him,” 
pursued the Squire. 44 He’s a very young man, 
and no doubt has considerable ability.” 

44 1 daresay he has never met anybody.” 

44 I’m sure, papa,” interposed Miss Janet Delane, 
44 that it would have a good effect on him to meet 
us.” 

Mr. Delane smiled at his daughter. 

44 Would you like to know him, Jan?” he asked. 

17 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Of course I should ! He wouldn’t be dull, at 
all events, like most of the men about here. Tora 
Smith said the Colonel meant to call.” 

“ Colonel Smith is hardly in your father’s posi- 
tion, my dear.” 

“ Oh, since old Smith had his row with the War 
Office about that pension, he’ll call on anybody 
who’s for upsetting everything. It’s enough for 
him that a man’s a Radical.” 

“ Tora means to go too,” said Janet. 

“ Poor child ! It’s a pity she hasn’t a mother,” 
said Mrs. Delane. 

“I think I shall go. We can drop him if he 
turns out badly.” 

“ Very well, my dear, as you think best.” 

“ I’ll walk over on Sunday. I don’t suppose he 
objects to Sunday calls.” 

“Not on the ground that he wants to go to 
church, at all events,” remarked Mrs. Delane. 

“ Perhaps he goes to chapel, mamma.” 

“ Oh no, my dear, he doesn’t do that.” Mrs. 
Delane was determined to be just. 

“Well, he was the son of a Dissenting minister, 
mamma. The Critic said so.” 

“ I wonder what his father thinks of him,” said 
the Squire, with a slight chuckle, not knowing 
that death had spared Dale’s father all chance of 
trouble on his son’s score. 

“ Mrs. Roberts told me,” said Janet, “ that her 
husband had been to see him, and liked him 
awfully.” 

“ I think Roberts had better have waited,” the 
Squire remarked, with a little frown. “ In his po- 
sition he ought to be very careful what he does.” 

“ Oh, it will be all right if you call, papa.” 

18 


DENBOROUGH DETERMINES TO CALL 


41 6 It would have been better if he had let me go 
first.” 

Mr. Delane spoke with some severity. Apart 
from his position of overlord of Denborough, which, 
indeed, he could not but feel was precarious in 
these innovating days, he thought he had special 
claims to be consulted by the Doctor. He had 
taken him up; his influence had gained him his 
appointment at Dirkham and secured him the 
majority of his more wealthy clientele ; his good- 
will had opened to the young unknown man the 
doors of the Grange, and to his wife the privilege 
of considerable intimacy with the Grange ladies. 
It was certainly a little hasty in the Doctor not to 
wait for a lead from the Grange, before he flung 
himself into Dale Bannister’s arms. 

All these considerations were urged by Janet in 
her father’s defence when his title to approve, dis- 
approve, or in any way concern himself with Dr. 
Roberts’ choice of friends and associates was vig- 
orously questioned by Tora Smith. Colonel Smith 
— he had been Colonel Barrington-Smith, but he 
did not see now what a man wanted with two 
names — was, since his difference with the authori- 
ties, a very strong Radical; on principle he ap- 
proved of anything of which his friends and neigh- 
bours were likely on principle to disapprove. 
Among other such things, he approved of 
Dale Bannister’s views and works, and of the 
Doctor’s indifference to Mr. Delane’s opinion. 
And, just as Janet was more of a Tory than her 
father, Tora — she had been unhappily baptised in 
the absurd names of Victoria Regina in the loyal 
days before the grievance, but nothing was allowed 
to survive of them which could possibly be dropped 
19 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


— was more Radical than her father, and she ridi- 
culed the Squire’s pretensions with an extrava- 
gance which Sir Harry Fulmer, who was calling 
at the Smiths’ when Janet came in 5 thought none 
the less charming for being very unreasonable. 
Sir Harry, however, suppressed his opinion on 
both these points, — as to its being charming, be- 
cause matters had not yet reached the stage 
when he could declare it, and as to its being 
unreasonable, because he was by hereditary right 
the head of the liberal party in the district, and 
tried honestly to live up to the position by a 
constant sacrifice of his dearest prejudices on the 
altar of progress. 

“I suppose,” he said in reply to an appeal 
from Tora, “that a man has a right to please 
himself in such things.” 

“ After all papa has done for him ! Besides, 
Sir Harry, you know a doctor ought to be par- 
ticularly careful.” 

“What is there so dreadful about Mr. Ban- 
nister ? ” asked Tora. “ He looks very nice.” 

“Have you seen him, Tora ? ” asked Janet eagerly. 

“Yes ; we met him riding on such a queer old 
horse. He looked as if he was going to tumble 
off every minute; he can’t ride a bit. But he’s 
awfully handsome.” 

“ What’s he like ? ” 

“ Oh, tall, not very broad, with beautiful eyes 
and a lot of waving auburn hair ; he doesn’t 
wear it clipped like a toothbrush. And he’s got 
a long moustache, and a straight nose, and a 
charming smile. Hasn’t he, Sir Harry? ” 

“ I didn’t notice particularly. He’s not a bad- 
looking chap. Looks a bit soft, though.” 

20 


DENBOROUGH DETERMINES TO CALL 


“Soft? why, he’s a tremendous genius, papa 
says.” 

“I didn’t mean that: I mean flabby and out 
of training, you know.” 

“ Oh, he isn’t always shooting or hunting, of 
course,” said Tora contemptuously. 

“I don’t suppose,” remarked Janet, “that in 
his position of life — well, you know, Tora, he’s 
of quite humble birth — he ever had the chance.” 

“ He’s none the worse for that,” said Sir Harry 
stoutly. 

“ The worse ? I think he’s the better. Papa is 
going to ask him here.” 

“You’re quite enthusiastic, Tora.” 

“ I love to meet new people. One sees the 
same faces year after year in Denshire.” 

Sir Harry felt that this remark was a little un- 
kind. 

“ 1 like old friends,” he said, “ better than new 
ones.” 

Janet rose to go. 

“We must wait and hear papa’s report,” she said, 
as she took her leave. 

Tora Smith escorted her to the door, kissed her, 
and, returning, said, with a snap of her fingers, 

“ I don’t care that for ‘ papa’s report.’ Jan is 
really too absurd.” 

“ It’s nice to see her ” 

“ Oh, delightful. I hate dutiful people ! ” 

“ You think just as much of your father.” 

“We happen to agree in our opinions, but papa 
always tells me to use my own judgment. Are 
you going to see Mr. Bannister ? ” 

“Yes, I think so. He won’t hurt me, and he 
may subscribe to the hunt.” 

21 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“No; he may even improve you.” 

“ Do I want it so badly, Miss Smith ? ” 

“ Yes. You’re a weak-kneed man.” 

“ Oh, I say ! Look here, you must help me.” 

“ Perhaps I will, if Mr. Bannister is not too en- 
grossing.” 

“ Now you’re trying to draw me.” 

“Was I? And yet you looked pleased. Per- 
haps you think it a compliment.” 

“Isn’t it one? It shows you think it worth 
while to ” 

“ It shows nothing of the kind,” said Tora de- 
cisively. 

Thus, for one reason or another, from one di- 
rection and another, there was converging on 
Littlehill a number of visitors. If your neighbour 
excites curiosity, it is a dull imagination that finds 
no plausible reason for satisfying it. Probably 
there was more in common than at first sight ap- 
peared between Mr. Delane’s sense of duty, the 
Mayor’s idea of official courtesy, Colonel Smith’s 
contempt for narrowness of mind, Sir Harry Ful- 
mer’s care for the interests of the hunt, and Dr. 
Roberts’ frank and undisguised eagerness to see and 
speak with Dale Bannister face to face. 


22 


CHAPTER IV 


A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON 

To dissolve public report into its component parts 
is never a light task. Analysis as a rule reveals 
three constituents, truth, embroidery, and mere 
falsehood, but the proportions vary infinitely. 
Denborough, which went to bed, to a man, at ten 
o’clock, or so soon after as it reached home from 
the public-house, said that the people at Littlehill 
sat up very late : this was truth, at least relative 
truth, and that is all we can expect here. It said 
that they habitually danced and sang the night 
through : this was embroidery ; they had once 
danced and sung the night through, when Dale had 
a party from London. It said that orgies — if the 
meaning of its nods, winks, and smiles may be sum- 
marised — went on at Littlehill : this was falsehood. 
Dale and his friends amused themselves, and it 
must be allowed that their enjoyment was not 
marred, but rather increased, by the knowledge that 
they did not command the respect of Denborough. 
They had no friends there. Why should they care 
for Denborough’s approval? Denborough’s ap- 
proval was naught, whereas Denborough’s disap- 
proval ministered to the pleasure most of us feel in 
giving gentle shocks to our neighbours’ sense of 
propriety. No doubt an electric eel enjoys itself. 
But, after all, if the mere truth must be told, they 
were mild sinners at Littlehill, the leading spirits, 
Dale and Arthur Angell, being indeed young men 
23 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


whose antinomianism found a harmless issue in 
ink, and whose lawlessness was best expressed in 
metre. A cynic once married his daughter to a 
professed atheist, on the ground that the man could 
not afford to be other than an exemplary husband 
and father. Poets are not trammelled so tight as 
that, for, as Mrs. Delane remarked, there was Byron, 
and perhaps one or two more; yet, for the most 
part, she who marries a poet has nothing worse than 
nerves to fear. But a little lawlessness will go a 
long way in the right place, — for example, lawn- 
tennis on Sunday in the suburbs, — and the Littlehill 
party extorted a gratifying meed of curiosity and 
frowns, which were not entirely undeserved by 
some of their doings, and were more than deserved 
by what was told of their doings. 

After luncheon on Sunday, Mr. Delane had a 
nap, as his commendable custom was. Then he 
took his hat and stick, and set out for Littlehill. 
The Grange park stretches to the outskirts of the 
town, and borders in part on the grounds of Little- 
hill, so that the Squire had a pleasant walk under 
the cool shade of his own immemorial elms, and 
enjoyed the satisfaction of inspecting his own most 
excellent shorthorns. Reflecting on the elms and 
the shorthorns, and on the house, the acres, and the 
family that were his, he admitted that he had been 
born to advantages and opportunities such as fell to 
the lot of few men ; and, inspired to charity by the 
distant church-bell sounding over the meadows, he 
acknowledged a corresponding duty of lenient judg- 
ment in respect of the less fortunate. Thus he ar- 
rived at Littlehill in a tolerant temper, and contented 
himself with an indulgent shake of the head when 
he saw the gravel fresh marked with horses’ hoofs. 

24 


A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


“ Been riding instead of going to church, the 
young rascals,” he said to himself, as he rang the 
bell. 

A small, shrewd-faced man opened the door 
and ushered Mr. Delane into the hall. Then he 
stopped. 

“ If you go straight on, sir,” said he, “ through 
that baize door, and across the passage, and through 
the opposite door, you will find Mr. Bannister.” 

Mr. Delane’s face expressed surprise. 

“ Mr. Bannister, sir,” the man explained, 44 don’t 
like visitors being announced, sir. If you would be 
so kind as to walk in ” 

It was a harmless whim, and the Squire nodded 
assent. He passed through the baize door, crossed 
the passage, and paused before opening the opposite 
door. The sounds which came from behind it ar- 
rested his attention. To the accompaniment of a 
gentle drumming noise, as if of sticks or umbrellas 
bumped against the floor, a voice was declaiming, 
or rather chanting, poetry. The voice rose and 
fell, and Mr. Delane could not distinguish the 
words, until it burst forth triumphantly with the 
lines — 

“ Love grows hate for love’s sake, life takes death for guide. 

Night hath none but one red star — Tyrannicide.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” said Mr. Delane. 

The voice dropped again for a few moments, 
then it hurled out — 

“ Down the way of Tsars awhile in vain deferred, 

Bid the Second Alexander light the Third. 

How for shame shall men rebuke them ? how may we 

Blame, whose fathers died and slew, to leave us free ? ” 

3 25 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


The voice was interrupted and drowned by the 
crash of the pianoforte, struck with remorseless 
force, and another voice, the voice of a woman, 
cried, rising even above the crash, 

“ Now, one of your own, Dale.” 

“ I think I’d better go in,” thought Mr. Delane, 
and he knocked loudly at the door. 

He was bidden to enter by the former of the 
two voices, and, going in, found himself in a billiard- 
room. Five or six people sat round the wall on 
settees, each holding a cue, with which they were 
still gently strumming on the floor. A stout, elderly 
woman was at the piano, and a young man sat 
cross-legged in the middle of the billiard-table, with 
a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. There 
was a good deal of tobacco smoke in the room, and 
Mr. Delane did not at first distinguish the faces of 
the company. 

The young man on the table uncoiled himself 
with great agility, jumped down, and came forward 
to meet the new-comer with outstretched hands. 
As he outstretched them, he dropped the book and 
the cigar to the ground on either side of him. 

“ Ah, here you are ! Delightful of you to come ! ” 
he cried. “ Now, let me guess you !” 

“ Mr. Bannister ? — Have I the pleasure ? ” 

“ Yes, yes. Now let’s see — don’t tell me your 
name.” 

He drew back a step, surveyed Mr. Delane’s 
portly figure, his dignified carriage, his plain solid 
watch-chain, his square-toed strong boots. 

“The Squire!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Delane, 
isn’t it ? ” 

“ I am Mr. Delane.” 

“Good! You don’t mind being guessed, do 
26 


A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


you? It’s so much more amusing. What will 
you have ? ” 

“ Thank you, I’ve lunched, Mr. Bannister.” 

“ Have you ? We’ve just breakfasted — had a 
ride before, you know. But I must introduce you.” 

He searched the floor, picked up the cigar, looked 
at it regretfully, and threw it out of an open win- 
dow. 

“ This,” he resumed, waving his hand towards 
the piano, “ is Mrs. Ernest Hodge. This is Miss 
Fane, Mrs. Hodge’s daughter — No, not by a first 
marriage — everybody suggests that. Professional 
name, you know — she sings. Hodge really wouldn’t 
do, would it, Mrs. Hodge? This is Philip Hume. 
This is Arthur Angell, who writes verses — like me. 
This is — but I expect you know these gentlemen? ” 

Mr. Delane peered through the smoke which 
Philip Hume was producing from a long pipe, and 
to his amazement discerned three familiar faces — 
those of Dr. Roberts, the Mayor, and Alderman 
Johnstone. The Doctor was flushed and looked 
excited ; the Mayor was a picture of dignified com- 
placency; Johnstone appeared embarrassed and 
uncomfortable, for his bald head was embellished 
with a flowery garland. Dale saw Mr. Delane’s 
eye rest on this article. 

“We always crown anybody who adds to our 
knowledge,” he explained. “ He gets a wreath of 
honour. The Alderman added to our knowledge 
of the expense of building a room. So Miss Fane 
crowned him.” 

An appreciative chuckle from the Mayor fol- 
lowed this explanation ; he knocked the butt of 
his cue against the floor, and winked at Philip 
Hume. 


27 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


The last-named, seeing that Mr. Delane was 
somewhat surprised at the company, came up to 
him and said, 

“ Come and sit down ; Dale never remembers 
that anybody wants a seat. Here’s an armchair.” 

Mr. Delane sat down next to Miss Fane, and 
noticed, even in his perturbation, that his neigh- 
bour was a remarkably pretty girl, with fair hair 
clustering in a thick mass on the nape of her neck, 
and large blue eyes which left gazing on Dale 
Bannister when their owner turned to greet him. 
Mr. Delane would have enjoyed talking to her, 
had not his soul been vexed at the presence of the 
three Denborough men. One did not expect to 
meet the tradesmen of the town ; and what busi- 
ness had the Doctor there ? To spend Sunday in 
that fashion would not increase his popularity or 
his practice. And then that nonsense about the 
wreath ! How undignified it was — it was even 
worse than yelling out Nihilistic verses by way of 
Sabbath amusement. 

“ I shall get away as soon as I can,” he thought, 
“ and I shall say a word to the Doctor.” 

He was called from his meditations by Miss 
Fane. She sat in a low chair with her feet on a 
stool, and now, tilting the chair back, she fixed her 
eyes on Mr. Delane, and asked, 

“ Are you shocked ? ” 

No man likes to admit that he is shocked. 

“ I am not, but many people would be.” 

“ I suppose you don’t like meeting those men ? ” 
“ Hedger is an honest man in his way of life. I 
have no great opinion of Johnstone.” 

“ This is your house, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes.” 


28 


A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


“ All the houses about here are yours, aren’t 
they?” 

“ Most of them are, Miss Fane,” 

“ Then you are a great man ? ” 

The question was put so simply, that Mr. De- 
lane could not suspect a sarcastic intent. 

“ Only locally,” he answered, smiling. 

“ Have you any daughters ? ” she asked. 

66 Y es one ” 

“What is she like?” 

“Fancy asking her father! I think Janet a 
beauty.” 

“ Fair or dark ? ” 

“ Dark.” 

“ Dale likes dark girls. Tall or short ? ” 

“Tall.” 

“ Good eyes ? ” 

“ I like them.” 

“ Oh, that’ll do. Dale will like her; ” and Miss 
Fane nodded reassuringly. Mr. Delane had not 
the heart to intimate his indifference to Dale Ban- 
nister’s opinion of his daughter. 

“ Do you know this country ? ” he asked, by way 
of conversation. 

“ We’ve only been here a week, but we’ve ridden 
a good deal. We hold Dale on, you know.” 

“ You are on a visit to Mr. Bannister? ” 

“ Oh yes, mother and I are here.” 

Mr. Delane could not help wondering whether 
their presence was such a matter of course as her 
tone implied, but before he could probe the matter 
further, he heard Dale exclaim, 

“Oh, it’s a wretched thing! Read it yourself, 
Roberts.” 

“ Mount him on the rostrum,” cried the young 
29 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


man who had been presented to Mr. Delane as 
Arthur Angell, and who had hitherto been engaged 
in an animated discussion with the Doctor. 

Laughing, and only half resisting, the Doctor 
allowed himself to be hoisted on to the billiard- 
table, sat down, and announced in a loud voice — 

“ Blood for Blood: by Dale Bannister.” 

The poem which bore this alarming title was 
perhaps the most outrageous of the author’s works. 
It held up to ridicule and devoted to damnation 
every person and every institution which the Squire 
respected and worshipped. And the misguided 
young man declaimed it with sparkling eyes and 
emphasising gestures, as though every wicked word 
of it were gospel. And to this man’s charge were 
committed the wives and families of the citizens of 
Denborough ! The Squire’s self-respect demanded 
a protest. He rose with dignity, and went up to 
his host. 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Bannister.” 

“ What ? you’re not going yet ? What ? Does 
this stuff bore you ? ” 

“ It does not bore me. But I must add — excuse 
an old-fashioned fellow — that it does something 
worse.” 

“ What ? Oh, you’re the other side ? Of course 
you are ! ” 

“ Whatever side I was, I could not listen to that. 
As an older man, let me give you a word of 
advice.” 

Dale lifted his hands in good-humoured protest. 

“ Sorry you don’t like it,” he said. “ Shut up, 
Roberts. If I’d known, we wouldn’t have had it. 
But it’s true — true — true.” 

The Doctor listened with sparkling eyes. 

30 


A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


“ I must differ utterly — I must indeed. Good- 
bye, Mr. Bannister. Hedger ! ” 

The Mayor started. 

“ I am walking into the town. Come with me.” 

The Mayor wavered. The Squire stood and 
waited for him. 

“ I didn’t think of goin’ yet, Mr. Delane, sir.” 

Dale watched the encounter with a smile. 

“ Your wife will expect you,” said the Squire. 
44 Come along.” 

The Mayor rose, ignoring Johnstone’s grin and 
the amusement on the faces of the company. 

“ I’ll come and look you up,” said Dale, press- 
ing the Squire’s hand warmly. “ Oh, it’s all right. 
Tastes differ. I’m not offended. I’ll come some 
day this week.” 

He showed them out, and, returning, said to the 
Doctor, 44 Roberts, you’ll get into trouble.” 

44 Nonsense ! ” said the Doctor. 44 What business 
is it of his ? ” 

Dale had turned to Johnstone. 

“ Good-bye,” said he abruptly. “ We close at 
five.” 

44 I’ve ’ad a pleasant afternoon, sir.” 

44 It will be deducted from your bill,” answered 
Dale. 

After ejecting Johnstone, he stood by the table, 
looking moodily at the floor. 

44 What’s the matter, Dale ? ” asked Miss Fane. 

44 1 suppose he thought we were beasts or luna- 
tics.” 

44 Probably,” said Philip Hume. 44 What then ? ” 

44 Well, yes,” answered Dale, smiling again. 
44 You’re quite right, Phil. What then ? ” 


31 


CHAPTER V 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 

If men never told their wives anything, the condi- 
tion of society would no doubt be profoundly modi- 
fied, though it is not easy to forecast the precise 
changes. If a guess may be hazarded, it is proba- 
ble that much less good would be done, and some 
less evil said : the loss of matter of interest for half 
the world may be allowed to sway the balance in 
favour of the present practice — a practice so uni- 
versal that Mr. Delane, the Mayor, and Alderman 
Johnstone one and all followed it by telling their 
wives about their Sunday afternoon at Littlehill. 
Dr. Roberts, it is true, gave a meagre account to 
his wife, but the narratives of the other three amply 
filled the gaps he left, and as each of them naturally 
dwelt on the most remarkable features of their en- 
tertainment, it may be supposed that the general 
impression produced in Market Denborough did 
not fall short of the truth in vividness of colour. 
The facts as to what occurred have been set down 
without extenuation and without malice : the prov- 
ince of Market Denborough society was to supply 
the inferences arising therefrom, and this task it ful- 
filled with no grudging hand. Before eight-and- 
forty hours had passed, there were reports that the 
Squire had discovered a full-blown Saturnalia in 
process at Littlehill — and that in these scandalous 
proceedings the Mayor, Alderman Johnstone, and 
Dr. Roberts were participators. 

32 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 


Then ensued conduct on the part of the Mayor 
and the Alderman deserving of unmeasured scorn. 
They could not deny that dreadful things had been 
done and said, though they had not seen the deeds 
nor understood the words : their denial would have 
had no chance of credit. They could not venture 
to say that Squire Delane had done anything ex- 
cept manfully protest. They began by accusing 
one another in round terms, but each found himself 
so vulnerable that by an unholy tacit compact they 
agreed to exonerate one another. The Mayor al- 
lowed that Johnstone was not conspicuous in wick- 
edness ; Johnstone admitted that the Mayor had 
erred, if at all, only through weakness and good- 
nature. Public opinion demanded a sacrifice ; and 
the Doctor was left to satisfy it. Everybody was 
of one mind in holding that Dr. Roberts had dis- 
graced himself, and nobody was surprised to hear 
that the Squire’s phaeton had been seen standing 
at his door for half an hour on Wednesday morn- 
ing. The Squire was within, and was understood 
to be giving the Doctor a piece of his mind. 

The Doctor was stiff-necked. 

“ It is entirely a private matter,” said he, “ and 
no one has a right to dictate to me.” 

“ My dear Roberts, I spoke merely in your own 
interest. It would ruin you if it became known 
that you held those atrocious opinions ; and become 
known it must, if you openly ally yourself with this 
young man.” 

“ I am not the servant of the people I attend. 
I may choose my own opinions.” 

“Yes, and they may choose their own doctor,” 
retorted the Squire. 

The two parted, almost quarrelling. Perhaps 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


they would have quite quarrelled had not the 
Squire thought of Mrs. Roberts and the baby. He 
wondered that the Doctor did not think of them 
too, but he seemed to Mr. Delane to be under such 
a spell that he thought of nothing but Dale Ban- 
nister. It was not as if Roberts were the only 
medical man in the place. There was young Dr. 
Spink — and he was a real M.D. — up the street, 
ready and eager to snap up stray patients. And 
Dr. Spink was a churchwarden. The Squire did 
not like him overmuch, but he found himself 
thinking whether it would not be well to send for 
him next time there was a case of illness at the 
Grange. 

The Squire meditated, while others acted. On 
her walk the same afternoon, Ethel Roberts heard 
news which perturbed her. The Vicar’s wife was 
ill, and Dr. Spink had been sent for. The Vicar 
was a well-to-do man. He had a large family, 
which yet grew. He had been a constant and a 
valuable client of her husband’s. And now Dr. 
Spink was sent for. 

“Jim,” she said, “ did you know that Mrs. Gilki- 
son was ill ? ” 

“ 111 ? ” said the Doctor, looking up from Slug- 
gards. “ No, I’ve heard nothing of it.” 

She came and leant over his chair. 

“ They’ve sent for Dr. Spink,” she said. 

“ What ? ” he exclaimed, dropping his beloved 
volume. 

“ Mrs. Hedger told me.” 

“ Well, they can do as they like. I suppose his 
‘ Doctor ’ is the attraction.” 

“ Do you think it’s that, dear ? ” 

“ What else can it be ? — unless it’s a mere freak.” 

34 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 


“ Well, Jim, I thought— I thought perhaps that 
the Vicar had heard about— about Littlehill— Yes, 
I know it’s very stupid and narrow, dear — but 
still ” 

The Doctor swore under his breath. 

“ I can’t help it if the man’s an ass,” he said. 

Ethel smiled patiently. 

“ It’s a pity to offend people, Jim dear, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Are you against me too, Ethel ? ” 

“Against you? You know I never would be, 
but ” 

“ Then do let us leave Denborough gossip alone. 
Fancy Denborough taking on itself to disapprove 
of Dale Bannister ! It’s too rich.” 

Ethel sighed. Denborough’s disapproval was no 
doubt a matter of indifference to Dale Bannister : 
it meant loss of bread and butter to James Roberts 
and his house. 

Meanwhile, Dale Bannister, all unconscious of 
the dread determinations of the Vicar, pursued his 
way in cheerful unconcern. People came and went. 
Arthur Angell returned to his haunts, rather dissat- 
isfied with the quiet of Littlehill, but rejoicing to 
have found in the Doctor one thorough-going be- 
liever. Mrs. Hodge, her daughter, and Philip 
Hume seemed to be permanent parts of the house- 
hold. Riding was their chief amusement. They 
would pass down High Street, Dale on his ancient 
mare, with Nellie and Philip by his side, laughing 
and talking merrily, Dale’s own voice being very 
audible as he pointed out, with amusement a trifle 
too obvious to be polite, what struck him as re- 
markable in Denborough ways of life. 

Philip, however, whom Mr. Delane had described 
to his wife as the only apparently sane person at 
35 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

Littlehill, was rather uneasy in his mind about 
Roberts. 

“ You’ll get that fellow disliked, Dale,” he said 
one morning, “ if you don’t take care.” 

“ I ? What have I to do with it ? ” asked Dale. 

“ They’ll think him unsafe, if they see him with 
you.” 

“ He needn’t come unless he likes. He’s not a 
bad fellow, only he takes everything so precious 
seriously.” 

“ He thinks you do, judging by your books.” 

“ Oh, I do — by fits. By the way, I have a fit 
now! Behold, I will write! Nellie! Where’s 
Nellie?” 

Nellie Fane came at his call. 

“ Sit down just opposite me, and look at me. I 
am going to write. The editor of the Cynosure 
begs for twenty lines — no more — twenty lines — 
fifty pounds! Now, Nellie, inspire me, and you 
shall have a new hat out of it. No, look at 
me ! ” 

Nellie sat down and gazed at him, obediently. 

“ Two pound ten a line — not bad for a young 
’un,” he pursued. “ They say Byron wrote on gin 
and water. I write on your eyes, Nellie — much 
better.” 

“ You’re not writing at all — only talking non- 
sense.” 

“ I’m just beginning.” 

“ Look here, Dale, why don’t you keep the Doc- 
tor — ” began Philip. 

“Oh, hang the Doctor! I’d just got an idea. 
Look at me, Nellie ! ” 

Philip shrugged his shoulders, and Dr. Roberts 
dropped out of discussion. 

36 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 


The twenty lines were written, though they were 
never considered one of his masterpieces ; then Dale 
rose with a sigh of relief. 

“Now for lunch, and then I’m going to return 
Mr. Delane’s call.” 

“ I thought we were to ride,” said Nellie disap- 
pointedly. 

“ Well, won’t you come ? ” 

“ Don’t be absurd ! ” 

“ Mightn’t she come, Phil ? ” 

“ Mrs. Delane has not called, has she ? ” inquired 
Philip, as though for information. 

“ Of course I shan’t go, Dale. You must go 
alone.” 

“ What a nuisance ! I shall have to walk. I 
daren’t trust myself to that animal alone.” 

After luncheon he started, walking by the same 
way by which Mr. Delane had come. 

He reached the lodge of the Grange ; a curtsey- 
ing child held open the gate, and he passed along 
under the immemorial elms, returning a cheery 
good-day to the gardeners, who paused in their 
work to touch their hats with friendly deference. 
The deference was wrong, of course, but the friend- 
liness pleased him, and even the deference seemed 
somehow in keeping with the elms and with the 
sturdy old red-brick mansion, with its coat-of-arms 
and defiant Norman motto over the principal door. 
Littlehill was a pleasant house, but it had none of 
the ancient dignity of Dirkham, and Dale’s quick 
brain was suddenly struck with a new understand- 
ing of how such places bred the men they did. He 
had had a fancy for a stay in the country; it would 
amuse him, he thought, to study country life : that 
was the meaning of his coming to Littlehill. Well, 
37 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


Dirkham summed up one side of country life, and 
he would be glad to study it. 

Mr. Delane was not at home — he had gone to 
Petty Sessions ; and Dale, with regret, for he 
wanted to see the inside of the house, left his name 
— as usual he had forgotten to bring a card — and 
turned away. As he turned, a pony carriage drew 
up and a girl jumped out. Dale drew back to let 
her pass, raising his hat. The servant said a word 
to her, and when he had gone some ten or fifteen 
yards, he heard his name called. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bannister, do come in ! I expect 
papa back every minute, and he will be so sorry 
to miss you. Mamma is up in London; but I 
hope you’ll come in.” 

Dale had no idea of refusing the invitation given 
so cordially. He had been sorry to go away be- 
fore, and the sight of Janet Delane made him more 
reluctant still. He followed her into the oak-pan- 
elled hall, hung with pictures of dead Delanes and 
furnished with couches and easy- chairs. 

“Well,” she said, after tea was brought, “and 
what do you think of us ? ” 

“ I have not seen very much of you yet.” 

“ As far as you have gone? And be candid.” 

“ You are very restful.” 

She made a little grimace. 

“ You mean very slow ? ” 

“ Indeed I don’t. I think you very interesting.” 

“You find us interesting, but slow. Yes, you 
meant that, Mr. Bannister, and it’s not kind.” 

“Have your revenge by telling me what you 
think of me.” 

“ Oh, we find you interesting too. Were all 
talking about you.” 


38 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 

“ And slow ? ” 

66 No, certainly not slow,” she said, with a smile 
and a glance : the glance should be described, if 
it were describable, but it was not. 

Dale, however, understood it, for he replied, 
laughing, 

“ They’ve been prejudicing you against me.” 

“ I don’t despair of you. I think you may be re- 
formed. But I’m afraid you’re very bad just now.” 

“Why do you think that? From what your 
father said? ” 

“ Partly. Partly also because Colonel Smith and 
Tora — do you know them? — are so enthusiastic 
about you.” 

“ Is that a bad sign ? ” 

“Terrible. They are quite revolutionary. So 
are you, aren’t you ? ” 

“ Not in private life.” 

“ But of course,” she asked, with serious eyes, 
“ you believe what you write ? ” 

“ W ell, I do ; but you pay writers a compliment 
by saying 4 of course.’ ” 

44 Oh, I hope not. Anything is better than in- 
sincerity.” 

44 Even my opinions ? ” 

44 Yes. Opinions may be changed, but not na- 
tures, you know.” 

She was still looking at him with serious, inquir- 
ing eyes. The eyes were very fine eyes. Perhaps 
that was the reason why Dale thought the last 
remark so excellent. He said nothing, and she 
went on. 

44 People who are clever and — and great, you 
know, ought to be so careful that they are right, 
oughtn’t they ? ” 


39 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Oh, a rhymer rhymes as the fit takes him,” an- 
swered he, with affected modesty. 

“ I wouldn’t believe that of you. You wouldn’t 
misuse your powers like that.” 

“You have read my poetry ? ” 

“ Some of it.” She paused and added, with a 
little blush for her companion, “ There was some 
papa would not let me read.” 

A man may not unreasonably write what a 
young girl’s father may very reasonably not like 
her to read. Nevertheless, Dale Bannister felt 
rather uncomfortable. 

“ Those were the shocking political ones, I sup- 
pose ? ” he asked. 

“No, I read most of those. These were against 
religion and ” 

“ Well?” 

“ Morality, papa said,” she answered, with the 
same grave look of inquiry. 

Dale rose and held out his hand, saying petu- 
lantly, 

“Good-bye, Miss Delane. You evidently don’t 
think me fit to enter your house.” 

“ Oh, now I have made you angry. I have no 
right to speak about it, and, of course, I know 
nothing about it. Only ” 

“ Only what ? ” 

“ Some things are right and some wrong, aren’t 
they ? ” 

“ Oh, granted, — if we could only agree which 
were which.” 

“ As to some we have been told. And I don’t 
think that about you at all — I really don’t. Do 
wait till papa comes.” 

Dale sat down again. He had had his lecture ; 

40 


THE NECESSARY SCAPEGOAT 


experience told him that a lecture from such lec- 
turers is tolerably often followed by a petting, and 
the pettings were worth the lectures. In this in- 
stance he was disappointed. Janet did not pet him, 
though she displayed much friendliness, and he 
took his leave (for the Squire did not appear) feel- 
ing somewhat put out. 

Approbation and applause were dear to this 
man, who seemed to spend his energies in courting 
blame and distrust ; whatever people thought of 
his writings, he wished them to be fascinated by 
him. He was not sure that he had fascinated Miss 
Delane. 

“ I should like to see more of her,” he thought. 
“ She’s rather an odd girl.” 


4 


41 


CHAPTER VI 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 

Mr. Delane’s late return from his public duties 
was attributable simply to Colonel Smith’s obsti- 
nacy. He and the Colonel sat together on the 
bench, and very grievously did they quarrel over 
the case of a man who had been caught in posses- 
sion of the body of a fresh-killed hare. They dif- 
fered first as to the policy of the law, secondly as 
to its application, thirdly as to its vindication ; and 
when the Vicar of Denborough, who was a county 
justice and present with them, sided with the Squire 
on all these points, the Colonel angrily denounced 
the reverend gentleman as a disgrace, not only to 
the judicial bench, but even to his own cloth. All 
this took time, as did also the Colonel’s cross-ex- 
amination of the constable in charge of the case, 
and it was evening before the dispute was ended, 
and a fine imposed. The Colonel paid the fine, and 
thus every one, including the law and the prisoner, 
was in the end satisfied. 

Mr. Delane and the Colonel, widely and fiercely 
as they differed on every subject under the sun, 
were very good friends, and they rode home to- 
gether in the dusk of a September evening, for 
their roads lay the same way for some distance. 
Presently they fell in with Sir Harry Fulmer, who 
had been to see Dale Bannister, and, in his absence, 
had spent the afternoon with Nellie Fane and 
Philip Hume. 


42 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 


“ Hume’s quite a good fellow,” he declared ; 
“ quiet, you know, and rather sarcastic, but quite 
a gentleman. And Miss Fane — I say, have you 
seen her, Colonel ? ” 

“By the way, who is Miss Fane?” asked the 
Squire. 

4 ‘ Oh, she acts, or sings, or something. Awfully 
jolly girl, and uncommon pretty. Don’t you think 
so, Squire ? ” 

“ Yes, I did, Harry. But why is she staying 
there ? ” 

“ Really, Delane,” said the Colonel, “ what pos- 
sible business is that of yours ? ” 

“I’ve called on Bannister, and he’s going to re- 
turn my call. I think it’s a good deal of business 
of mine.” 

“ Well ! ” exclaimed the Colonel; “ for sheer un- 
charitableness and the thinking of all evil, give 
me a respectable Christian man like yourself, De- 
lane.” 

“ Oh, it’s all right,” said Sir Harry cheerfully. 
“ The old lady, Mrs. What’s-her-name, is there.” 

“ I hope it is,” said the Squire. “ Bannister has 
himself to thank for any suspicions which may be 
aroused.” 

“ Suspicions ? Bosh ! ” said the Colonel. “ They 
are all coming to dine with me to-morrow. I met 
Bannister and asked him. He said he had friends, 
and I told him to bring the lot. Will you and 
Mrs. Delane come, Squire ? ” 

“ My wife’s away, thanks.” 

“ Then bring Janet.” 

“ Hum! I think I’ll wait.” 

“ Oh, as you please. You’ll come, Harry ? ” 

Sir Harry was delighted to come. 

43 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Tora was most anxious to know them,” the 
Colonel continued, “ and I hate ceremonious ways. 
There’ll be nobody else, except the Doctor and his 
wife.” 

“You haven’t asked Hedger and Johnstone, 
have you ? ” inquired the Squire. “ They’re friends 
of Bannister’s. I met them at his house.” 

“ I haven’t, but I don’t know why I shouldn’t.” 

“ Still you won’t,” said Sir Harry, with a laugh. 

The Colonel knew that he would not, and 
changed the subject. 

“ This is a great occasion,” said Philip Hume at 
afternoon tea next day. “ To-night we are to be 
received into county society.” 

“ Is Colonel Smith ‘ county society ’ ? ” asked 
Nellie. 

“ Yes. The Mayor told me so. The Colonel is 
a Radical, and a bad one at that, but the poor man 
comes of good family and is within the toils. ” 

“ I expect he really likes it,” said Nellie. “ I 
should.” 

“ Are you nervous ? ” inquired Philip. 

Nellie laughed and coloured. 

“ I really am a little. I hope I shall behave 
properly. Mother is in a dreadful state.” 

“ Where is Mrs. Hodge ? ” 

“ Putting some new lace on her gown.” 

“ And Dale ? ” 

“ He’s writing. Mr. Hume, has he told you 
anything about his visit yesterday ? ” 

“ Yes. He says he met an angel.” 

“ Oh, that accounts for the title.” 

“ What title ? ” 

“ Why, I went and looked over his shoulder, 
and saw he was beginning some verses, headed 
44 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 

‘To a Pretty Saint.’ I always look, you know, 
but this time he snatched the paper away.” 

“ ‘ To a Pretty Saint ’ ? Dear, dear ! Perhaps 
he meant you, Nellie.” 

Miss Fane shook her head. 

“He meant Miss Delane, I’m sure,” she said 
dolefully. “ I hope Miss Smith is just exactly a 
county young lady — you know what I mean. I 
want to see one.” 

“ Do you contemplate remodelling yourself? ” 

“ I’m sure Dale will like that sort of girl.” 

Philip looked at her sideways. He thought of 
telling her that “ county young ladies ” did not 
proclaim all their thoughts. But then he reflected 
that he would not. 

The Littlehill party arrived at Mount Pleasant, 
the Colonel’s residence, in the nick of time; and 
Mrs. Hodge sailed in to dinner on her host’s arm 
in high good humour. Dale, as the great man and 
the stranger, escorted Tora, Philip Hume Mrs. 
Roberts, and Sir Harry fell to Nellie’s lot. 

Mrs. Hodge was an amusing companion. She 
did not dally at the outworks of acquaintance, but 
closed at once into intimacy, and before half an 
hour was gone, she found herself trying hard not 
to call the Colonel “ my dear,” and to remember 
to employ the usual prefixes to the names of the 
company. The Colonel was delighted ; was he at 
last escaping from the stifling prison of convention- 
ality and breathing a freer air ? 

Unhappily, just in proportion as good cheer and 
good fellowship put Mrs. Hodge at her ease, and 
made her more and more to the Colonel’s taste, 
her daughter’s smothered uneasiness grew more in- 
tense. Nellie had borne herself with an impossible 
45 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


dignity and distance of manner towards Sir Harry, 
in the fear lest Sir Harry should find her wanting 
in the characteristics of good society, and her 
frigidity was increased by her careful watch on her 
mothers conduct. Sir Harry was disappointed. 
As he could not sit by Tora Smith, he had consoled 
himself with the prospect of some fun with “ little 
Miss Fane.” And little Miss Fane held him at 
arms’ length. He determined to try to break down 
her guard. 

“ How did you manage to shock the Squire so? ” 
he asked. 

“ Was he shocked ? I didn’t know.” 

“You were there, weren’t you ? ” 

“Oh yes. Well, I suppose it was Mr. Bannis- 
ter’s poetry.” 

“ Why should that she ° ” * 1 TT 



who knew very well. 


write some like it ! ” 

She turned to him with sudden interest. 

“ Do you admire Dale’s writings ? ” 

“ Awfully,” said Sir Harry. “ Don’t you? ” 

“ Of course I do, but I didn’t know whether you 
would. Do you know Miss Delane? ” 

“ Yes, very well.” 

“ Do you like her ? ” 

“ Oh yes. I have known her all my life, and I 
like her. She frightens me a little, you know.” 

“ Does she ? How ? ” 

“ She expects such a lot of a fellow. Have you 
met her ? ” 

“ No. D — Mr. Bannister has. He likes her.” 

“ I expect she blew him up, didn’t she? ” 

“ Oh, I shouldn’t think so. Dale wouldn’t like 
that.” 


46 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 


“Depends how it’s done,” observed Sir Harry. 
“ Don’t you ever blow him up ? ” 

“ Of course not. I’m much too— I look up to 
him too much.” 

They were interrupted by the Colonel’s voice. 
He was saying, with much energy, 

“ Ability we don’t expect in a Government office, 
but honesty one might hope for.” 

“Just what Hodge used to say of old Pratt,” 
said Mrs. Hodge. 

“ I beg pardon? ” said the Colonel. 

“Pratt was his manager, you know — my hus- 
band’s.” 

“ Oh yes, of course.” 

“Nellie, you remember your father throwing 
down that two pound ten on the table, and saying, 
‘Well, I’m ’ ” 

“No, mother, I don’t. Do you think I could 
learn to hunt, Sir Harry ? ” 

“ Of course you could, in no time.” 

“ Does Miss Delane ? ” 

“And Pratt said that if Hodge couldn’t play 
the king at two pound ten a week — though that’s 
hard living, my dear — I beg pardon — Colonel ” 

The Colonel bowed courteously. Nellie grew 
very red. 

“ Why, bantam-cocks had risen since his day, and 
that was all about it.” And Mrs. Hodge emptied 
her glass and beamed pleasantly on the company. 

Suddenly Dale Bannister began to laugh gently. 
Tora Smith turned an inquiring look in his 
direction. 

“ What is it, Mr. Bannister ? ” 

“ I saw your father’s butler looking at my friend 
Mrs. Hodge.” 


47 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ What nonsense ! Simmons is not allowed to 
look at any one.” 

“ Isn’t he? Why not ? ” 

“ No good servant does.” 

Dale smiled. 

“I know what you mean,” Tora continued; 
“but surely while they’re actually waiting, Mr. 
Bannister, we can’t treat them quite like ourselves? 

At any other time, of course ” 

“You’d take a walk with them ? ” 

“ They’d be horribly uncomfortable if I did,” she 
answered, laughing. 

“ That’s the worst of it,” said he. 

“ Do you think us great shams ? ” 

“ I have come to learn, not to criticise.” 

“We want a leader,” said Tora, with pretty 
earnestness. 

“ Haven’t you one ? ” 

“ Sir Harry Fulmer is our leader, but we’re not 
contented with him. He’s a very mild Radical. 
Won’t you come to our help ? ” 

“I expect I should be too extreme the other 
way.” 

“Oh, I love people who are extreme, — in my 
direction, I mean.” 

“ Well, then, try the Doctor.” 

“Mr. Roberts? Oh, he’s hardly prominent 
enough ; we must have somebody of position. 
Now, what are you laughing at, Mr. Bannister ? ” 
The gentleman to whom they referred sat look- 
ing on at them with no great pleasure, though 
they found one another entertaining enough to 
prevent them noticing him. Dale Bannister said 
that his new friend took life seriously, and the 
charge was too true for the Doctor’s happiness. 

48 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 


Dale Bannister had taken hold of his imagination. 
He expected Dale to do all he would give his life 
to see done, but could not do himself; the effect 
of Dale was to be instantaneous, enormous, trans- 
forming Denborough and its inhabitants. He re- 
garded the poet much as a man might look upon a 
benevolent volcano, did such a thing exist in the 
order of nature. His function was, in the Doctor’s 
eyes, to pour forth the burning lava of truth and 
justice, wherewith the ignorance, prejudice, and 
cruelty of the present order should be consumed 
and smothered; let the flood be copious, scorch- 
ing, and unceasing! The Doctor could do little 
more than hail the blessed shower and declare its 
virtues ; but that he was ready to do at any cost. 
And the volcano would not act! The eruptions 
were sadly intermittent. The hero, instead of go- 
ing forth to war, was capering nimbly in a lady’s 
chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute ; that 
is to say, he was talking trifles to Tora Smith, with 
apparent enjoyment, forgetful of his mission, ig- 
noring the powers of darkness around. No light- 
spreading saying, no sword-flash had come from 
him all the evening. He was fiddling while 
Rome was — waiting for the burning it needed so 
badly. 

Perhaps it was a woebegone look about the 
Doctor that made Philip Hume take the chair 
next him after dinner, while Dale was, still as if in 
play, emitting anarchist sparks for the Colonel’s 
entertainment. 

“ Is it possible,” asked the Doctor in low, half- 
angry tones, “ that he thinks these people are any 
good — that they are sincere or thorough in the 
matter ? He’s wasting his time.” 

49 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“Well, well, my dear fellow, we must all dine, 
whatever our opinions.” 

“ Oh yes, we must dine, while the world 
starves.” 

“The bow can’t be always stretched,” said 
Philip, with a slight smile. 

“ You don’t think, Hume, do you, that he’s get- 
ting any less — less in earnest, you know ? ” 

“ Oh, he wrote a scorcher this very morning.” 

“ Did he ? That’s good news. Where is it to 
appear ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He didn’t write it on com- 
mission.” 

“ His poems have such magnificent restlessness, 
haven’t they ? I can’t bear to see him idle.” 

“Poor Dale! You must give him some holi- 
days. He likes pleasure like the rest of us.” 

The Doctor sighed impatiently, and Philip, 
looking at him anxiously, laid a hand on his 
arm. 

“ Roberts,” he said, “ there is no need that you 
should be ground to powder.” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“I hope you never will. Your wife doesn’t 
look very strong. Why don’t you give her a 
change ? ” 

“A change? How am I to afford a change? 
Besides, who wants a change? What change do 
most workers get ? ” 

“ Hang most workers ! Your wife wants a 
change.” 

“ I haven’t got the money, anyhow.” 

“ Then there’s an end of it.” 

The Colonel rose, and they made for the 
drawing-room. 


50 


LITTLEHILL GOES INTO SOCIETY 


Philip detained his companion for a moment. 
“Well?” said the Doctor, feeling the touch on 
his arm. 

“ For Gods sake, old fellow, go slow,” said 
Philip, pressing his arm, and looking at him with 
an appealing smile. 


51 


CHAPTER VII 


“TO A PRETTY SAINT” 

When Mrs. Delane came back from London, she 
was met with a question of the precise kind on 
which she felt herself to be no mean authority. It 
was a problem of propriety, of etiquette, and of the 
usages of society, and Mrs. Delane attacked it with 
a due sense of its importance and with the pleasure 
of an expert. It arose out of Dale Bannister's call 
at the Grange. Dale had been accustomed, when 
a lady found favour in his eyes, to inform her of the 
gratifying news through the medium of a set of 
verses, more or less enthusiastic and rhapsodic in 
their nature. The impulse to follow his usual 
practice was strong on him after meeting Janet 
Delane, and issued in the composition of that 
poem called “ To a Pretty Saint,” the title of 
which Nellie had seen. He copied it out fair, and 
was about to put it in the post, when a thought 
suddenly struck him. Miss Delane was not quite 
like most of his acquaintances. It was perhaps 
possible that she might think his action premature, 
or even impertinent, and that she might deem it 
incumbent on her to resent being called either a 
saint or pretty by a friend of one interviews stand- 
ing. Dale was divided between his new-born doubt 
of his own instinct of what was permissible, and his 
great reluctance to doom his work to suppression. 
He decided to consult Philip Hume, who was, as 
52 


“TO A PRETTY SAINT 


he knew, more habituated to the social atmosphere 
of places like Denshire. 

“ Eh ? what ? ” said Philip, who was busily en- 
gaged in writing a newspaper article. “ Written a 
poem to a girl ? All right. I’ll listen presently.” 

“I don’t want you to listen. I want your ad- 
vice as to whether to send it or not.” 

“ If you’ve wasted your time writing the thing, 
—by the way, take care the Doctor doesn’t hear of 
it, — you may as well send it.” 

“ The question is, whether she’ll be offended.” 

“ I’m glad it isn’t more important, because I’m 
busy.” 

“ Look here ! Stop that anonymous stabber of 
yours and listen. It’s to Miss Delane.” 

Philip stopped in the middle of a particularly 
vicious paragraph of the “ stabber,” and looked up 
with amusement on his face. 

“It’s a perfectly — you know — suitable poem,” 
pursued Dale. “The only question is, will she 
think it a liberty? ” 

“ Oh, send it. They like getting ’em ; ” and 
Philip took up his pen again. 

“ You don’t know the sort of girl she is.” 

“ Then what the deuce is the good of asking me? 
Ask Nellie.” 

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Dale shortly. 

Thus thrown, by his friend’s indifference, on his 
own judgment, Dale made up his mind to send 
the verses, — he could not deny himself the pleas- 
ure, — but, half alarmed at his own audacity, which 
feeling was a new one in him, he “ hedged ” by en- 
closing with them a letter of an apologetic charac- 
ter. Miss Delane was not to suppose that he took 
the liberty of referring to her in the terms of his 
53 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


title : the little copy of verses had merely been 
suggested by a remark she made. He had failed 
to find an answer on the spot. Would she pardon 
him for giving his answer now in this indirect way? 
— and so forth. 

The verses, with their accompanying letter, were 
received by Janet, and Janet had no doubt of what 
she did feel about them, but some considerable 
doubt as to what she ought to feel ; so she carried 
them to her mother. Mrs. Delane put on her 
pince-nez and read the documents in the case. 

44 I’m sure he didn’t mean to be — anything but 
what’s nice, mamma,” said Janet. 

44 I daresay not, my dear. The question is, 
whether the young man knows his manners. 
Let’s see.” 

After careful perusal, during which Janet watched 
her mother’s face with some anxiety, Mrs. Delane 
delivered judgment. 

<fi There’s no positive harm in them,” she said, 
44 and I don’t think we need take any actual steps. 
Still, Janet, he is evidently to be treated with dis- 
cretion.” 

44 How do you mean, mamma ? ” 

44 Well, he isn’t in need of encouragement, is he? 
He’s not backward in making friends.” 

44 1 suppose not. May I keep them ? ” 

44 Keep them ? Do you want to keep them? ” 

44 Not particularly, dear,” answered Janet. 44 1 — 
I thought he meant me to.” 

44 No doubt. Write a civil note, dear, thank him 
for letting you see them, and return them en- 
closed.” 

Janet was a little reluctant to part with her auto- 
graph manuscript, — not because of its pecuniary 
54 


“TO A PRETTY SAINT 


value, though that was more than a trifle, had she 
known, but because such things are pleasant pos- 
sessions to show to envious friends, — but she did as 
she was told. She did not, however, feel herself 
bound altogether to smother her pride or to make 
a secret of the tribute she had received. Tora 
Smith heard the story with evident amusement, 
and, thinking that others would share her apprecia- 
tion of it, relieved the somewhat uphill course of 
Mrs. Hodge’s call by a repetition of it : whereby it 
happened that Nellie Fane came to know, not only 
that Dale had written verses to Miss Delane and 
sent them, but also that Miss Delane had returned 
the offering. She told Philip the latter fact, and 
the two ventured to rally the poet on the occur- 
rence. Dale took their action very badly, and his 
displeasure soon reduced Nellie to apologies. Philip 
was less sensitive. 

“ D. W. T., by Jove ! ” he remarked. “ Quite 
like old times, Dale ! ” 

Dale muttered something about “ infernal chat- 
ter.” 

“You will soon be in a position to publish a 
volume of ‘ Rejected Addresses.’ ” 

“Not at all,” said Dale. “It’s simply that she 
didn’t understand I meant her to keep them.” 

“ Oh, that’s her delicate way of snubbing you, 
my boy.” 

“ What the deuce do you know about it, Phil? 
You never wrote verses in your life. Don’t you 
agree with me, Nellie ? ” 

“ Miss Smith said Miss Delane thought she had 
better not keep them.” 

“ I knew that girl was a gossip directly I set eyes 
on her.” 


55 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ You’re naturally hurt, old fellow, but ” 

“ Go to the deuce ! Look here, I’ll bet you a 
fiver she takes them back and keeps them.” 

“ Done ! ” said Philip, and Dale seized his hat. 

“ Why does he want her to take them ? ” asked 
Nellie. 

“ Vanity, my dear, vanity. I suppose he’s ac- 
customed to having his verses laid up in lavender. 
Is that what you do with yours ? ” 

“ He never wrote me any,” answered Nellie in 
a tone of superlative indifference. 

It being only two o’clock, Dale felt he could not 
yet go to the Grange. He made a detour by the 
town, on pretence of buying stamps ; and, the 
stars fighting with him, outside the Mayor’s shop 
he saw Janet talking to the Mayor himself. 

“ Thank you, Miss Delane, miss,” said the Mayor. 
“Mrs. Hedger is doin’ nicely. She had a bit of 
feverishness about her, but Dr. Spink’s treated her 
wonderful.” 

“ Dr. Spink ? I thought you went to Dr. 
Roberts ? ” 

“I did, miss, but — Well, things come round 
to me, miss, being a centre like.” 

“ What things ? ” 

“Well, you may not have heard, miss, of the 
things that — Good-mornin’, Mr. Bannister, sir, 
good-mornin’. A fine day. Anything in our line, 
sir ? ” 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Mayor,” said Dale. “ Ah, 
Miss Delane, how do you do ? ” 

His coming interrupted Janet’s investigations 
into the affairs of the Doctor, and she took her 
leave of the Mayor, Dale assuming permission to 
walk with her. He ought to have asked, no doubt, 
56 


“TO A PRETTY SAINT 


thought Janet, but it would be making too much 
of it to tell him so. 

They had hardly started, when he turned to her, 
“ Why did you send back my verses ? ” 

“ I could hardly venture to keep them, could I ? ” 
“ Why not ? ” 

“ On so slight an acquaintance ! It was very 
kind of you to let me see them before they were 
published.” 

“ They’re not going to be published.” 

“ Oh, you must publish them. They’re so very 
pretty.” 

“ Didn’t you think I meant you to keep them ? ” 
“I should have been very conceited if I had, 
shouldn’t I ? ” 

“ Well, they were for you — not to be published. 
If you don’t like them, they’ll be burnt, that’s all.” 

Janet stole a glance at his face : he looked like 
a petulant Apollo — so she thought. 

“ That would be a pity,” she said gravely; “but I 
don’t think I ought to keep them.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

Socrates is reported to have said that nothing is 
reasonable which cannot be stated in a reasonable 
form. Miss Janet Delane would have dissented. 

“ Of course I like them very much. But — 
well, we haven’t known each other very long, Mr. 
Bannister.” 

“ You mean it was impertinent ? ” 

“ Oh no. I thought your letter perfect — I did 

really. But mamma thought- ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Dale, with brightening face. “ You 
would have kept them ? ” 

“ That’s not the question,” said Janet, smiling. 
It was pleasant to see Apollo looking less petulant. 

5 57 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

“ But what would people say if they heard I had 
poems of Mr. Dale Bannister’s about me ? I should 
be thought a dangerous person.” 

“I’ll write some which you would like to 

have.” 

“ I am sure you could, if you only would. 
Fancy, if you wrote really noble verses — worthy of 
you ! ” 

“ Well, I will, if it will please you.” 

“ Nonsense, Mr. Bannister ! There’s no question 
of pleasing me : it doesn’t matter — well, I mean, 
then, the great thing is to do justice to your- 
self.” 

“ I ought to have some encouragement in well- 
doing,” said Dale plaintively. 

She shook her head with a smile, and he went on, 

“ I wish you’d come to Littlehill and see the 
house. I’ve improved it tremendously.” 

“ Oh, you must invite mamma.” 

“Would Mrs. Delane come?” 

This question was a little awkward, for Mrs. 
Delane, after cross-examining Tora Smith closely 
as to Mrs. Hodge and her daughter, had announced 
that she would not go. 

“ A bachelor doesn’t entertain ladies, does he ? ” 

“ I should like to ; and there are some ladies — ” 
A sudden thought struck him, and he stopped. 
He looked so pointedly at Janet, that, to her in- 
tense annoyance, she felt herself blushing. She 
made the grave mistake of changing the conversa- 
tion abruptly. 

“ How did you like the Smiths? ” 

“ Oh, pretty well.” 

“ I should have thought you would have got on 
tremendously well together.” 

58 


“TO A PRETTY SAINT 


“ Oh, I don’t know. I think I like people to be 
one thing or the other, and the Smiths are half-way 
housers.” 

“ You’re very ungrateful.” 

“ Oh, they only asked us as a demonstration,” 
said Dale, who had some acuteness. 

Janet laughed, but her companion was moodily 
prodding the ground with his stick as he walked 
along. 

They reached a cottage where she had a visit to 
pay, and she bade him good-bye. 

“ Then you won’t have the verses ? ” 

“ I think not.” 

“Very well, then, here goes;” and he took the 
paper out of his pocket and tore it to bits. The 
fragments fluttered to the ground. 

“ How foolish ! ” she said. “ I daresay they 
were worth a lot of money — but then you can write 
them out again.” 

“ Do you think I shall ? ” he asked, grinding the 
fragments into the mud. 

“ I’m afraid you will do nothing wise,” she said, 
giving him her hand. Yet the extravagance rather 
pleased her. 

Until Dale reached his own house, it did not 
strike him that he had lost his bet. Philip quickly 
reminded him, and laughed mercilessly when a 
crumpled five-pound note was thrown at his head 
by his angry friend. 

“ I tell you she wanted to keep them,” said Dale 
unjustifiably. 

“ Then why didn’t she ? ” asked Nellie. 

“ Mrs. Delane didn’t approve of it.” 

“ I expect Mrs. Delane doesn’t approve of you at 
all,” remarked Philip. 


59 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“No, nor of my friends either,” answered Dale, 
flinging himself into a chair. 

“ Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Hodge, who sat by, 
“ her opinion will neither make us nor mar us.” 

“ How have we had the misfortune to offend the 
lady?” inquired Philip. “ She has never seen us.” 

“ Here’s your tea, Dale,” said Nellie. “ Are you 
tired ? ” 

“Yes, a little. Thanks, Nellie.” 

“ Was she looking nice, Dale ? ” 

“ I didn’t see her.” 

“ I mean Miss Delane.” 

“ Oh yes, I suppose so. I didn’t look much.” 


60 


CHAPTER VIII 


AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE 

Summer wore away, and autumn came in brief, 
calm radiance, and passed : winter began to threaten. 
At Denborough, one quiet day followed another, 
each one noticeable for little, but in the aggregate 
producing some not unimportant changes at Little- 
hill. Dale Bannister had begun to work hard and 
to work in solitude ; the inspiration of Nellie’s eyes 
seemed either unnecessary or ineffectual. More- 
over, his leisure hours were now largely spent in 
visiting at houses in the neighbourhood. He did 
not neglect his guests, but, whenever their engage- 
ments occupied them, instead of wandering about 
alone or enjoying the humours of the High Street, 
as he had been prone to do in the early days of his 
sojourn, he would go over to Mount Pleasant, or to 
the Grange, or to Sir Harry Fulmer’s, and he was 
becoming learned in country lore and less scornful 
of country ways. The Doctor was a rare visitor 
now, and, when he came, it generally fell to Philip 
Hume’s lot to entertain him. Philip did his duty 
loyally, but it was dreary work, for Roberts’ con- 
versation, at their meetings, consisted, in the main, 
of diatribes against Dale Bannister. He would de- 
clare that Dale’s conduct, in maintaining friendly 
relations with the gentry of the neighbourhood, 
was in flagrant contradiction to the views he had 
proclaimed in his writings. Philip shrugged his 
shoulders, and said that some men were better than 
61 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


their writings, some worse, but no man the same 
as his writings ; the pose must ever be allowed for : 
and at this, the angry man often turned his back 
on the house with an imprecation on half-hearted- 
ness. For the rest, Philip’s hands were not very 
full, and he and Nellie Fane found time for long 
expeditions together, which would have been more 
cheerful, had it not been for Nellie’s scrupulous de- 
termination to ignore the absence of the third 
member of the old trio. One day Philip’s idle 
steps led him through the town on the search for 
matter of amusement. He was caught in a shower, 
and took refuge in the Mayor’s shop, knowing that 
his Worship always had time for a gossip. He 
was not disappointed. The Mayor entertained him 
with a graphic account of the last assault on Mr. 
Delane’s position as member for the Denborough 
division, and of his own recent re-election to his 
high office. Philip congratulated him on the lat- 
ter event, and asked in curiosity, 

“ And what are your politics, Mr. Mayor ? ” 

“ I hold as a man in my position should have no 
politics, not party politics, Mr. Hume, sir.” 

“ Well, there’s something to be said for that.” 
“After all, we know what they are, sir. One 
out and the other in — that’s what they are, sir. ” 
“But you said Mrs. Hedger canvassed for the 
Squire.” 

“ So she did, sir. Now, my daughter is on the 
liberal side ; she and Miss Smith used to go a- 
drivin’ round together.” 

“ A sad division of opinion, Mr. Mayor.” 

“Well, we can differ without disagreein’, sir. 
Besides,” he added, with something like a wink, 
“ customers differ too.” 


62 


AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE 


“ Most true.” 

“ Business is business, sir, especially with a grow- 
in’ fam’ly. I always think of my fam’ly, Mr. 
Hume, and how I should leave ’em if I was took — 
taken.” 

“ A man’s first duty, Mr. Mayor.” 

“ You wouldn’t catch me goin’ on like this young 
Roberts.” 

“ Why, what’s he been up to now ? ” asked Philip 
uneasily. 

“ You ain’t seen the Standard , sir ? ” The 
Mayor, of course, meant the East Denshire Stand- 
ard , not the London paper of the same name. 

“ No.” 

“Well, last week they printed the Vicar’s ser- 
mon on ‘ The Work of Christianity in the World.’ 
A fine sermon it was, sir. I heard it, being a 
Church of England man. Mrs. Hedger goes to 

“ ‘ Customers differ too,’ ” thought Philip, smiling. 

“Well, as I was sayin’, Jones of the Standard 
got the Vicar to give it ’im, and it came out, with 
a leadin’ article of Jones’s crackin’ it up.” 

“ But how does the Doctor ” 

“ This week, sir,” continued the Mayor, shaking 
an impressive forefinger, “ in the Chronicle — that’s 
the Liberal paper, sir — there’s a letter from the 
Doctor — two columns — just abusin’ the Church 
and the parsons, and the ’ole — whole thing, fit to 
— well, I never did ! ” 

“ Hum ! Rather rash, isn’t it ? ” 

“Rash, Mr. Hume, sir? It’s madness, that’s 
what it is, sir. He talks about 4 pestilent priests,’ 
and I don’t know what all, sir, and ends with quot- 
in’ thirty or forty lines from a poem called, I think, 
63 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


The Arch Apostates , — would that be it, sir ? — by 
Mr. Bannister.” 

“No! does he, by Jove?” said Philip, slapping 
his thigh. 

“ And the po’try, sir, is worse than the Doctor’s 
own stuff, sir, beggin’ your pardon as a friend of 
Mr. Bannister.” 

“ I know the lines. They’re some of the hottest 
he’s ever done.” 

“ Mr. Bannister, of course, can afford it, sir. 
His opinions are what he pleases — but the Doctor, 
sir!” 

“ So the fat’s in the fire ? ” 

“ Just the very worst time it could ha’ come out, 
sir. The Guardians over at Dirkham meet to- 
morrow to elect their medical officer. I’m afraid 
as they won’t re-elect Dr. Roberts, sir, and there 
was more than one down at the ‘ Delane Arms ’ 
sayin’ they’d had the last to do with him.” 

Philip parted from his informant in much con- 
cern for Roberts, and in no small amusement at 
the public placarding of The Arch Apostates . Sur- 
tout 9 point de zele , he could imagine Dale saying to 
his infatuated disciple. 

On returning home, however, he found the poet 
saying much harder things of, if not to, Mr. Rob- 
erts. Dale had been calling at the Smiths’. 
The Colonel, while shaking his head over Roberts’ 
imprudence, had applauded his opinions, and was, 
above all, enchanted with the extract from Dale’s 
poem, which he had never hitherto read. His 
pleasure was, as he told Dale, greatly increased by 
finding that the letter and the quotation had fallen 
like a bombshell on the Grange household. 

“ The Squire was furious. Mrs. Delane said 
64 


AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE 


she had no idea you had done anything so bad as 
that ; and little J anet sat and looked as if some one 
had knocked down the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
It was splendid ! Gad, sir, you’ve waked ’em up.” 

These congratulations had the effect of reducing 
the poet almost to a frenzy. “ What business,” he 
demanded, “ has the fellow to quote me in support 
of his balderdash without my leave ? ” 

“ My dear fellow, your works are the possession 
of the nation,” said Philip, smiling, as he lit a cigar. 

“ It’s an infernal liberty! ” fumed Dale. 

“You light the fire, and blame it for blazing,” 
said Philip. 

“ One doesn’t want to shove one’s views down 
people’s throats.” 

“ Doesn’t one ? One used to.” 

“ I shall write and disclaim any responsibility.” 

“ For the poem ? ” 

“ For its publication, of course.” 

“ That won’t do you much good.” 

The Mayor’s forecast, based on a lifelong obser- 
vation of his neighbours, proved only too correct 
Dr. Spink entered the lists against Roberts, and 
was elected by every vote save one. Sir Harry 
Fulmer, in blind and devoted obedience to Tora 
Smith, voted for Roberts : the rest, headed by the 
Squire, installed his rival in his place ; and the 
Squire, having sternly done his duty, sat down 
and wrote a long and friendly letter of remon- 
strance and explanation to his erring friend. 

As misfortune followed misfortune, the Doctor 
set his teeth, and dared fate to do her worst. He 
waited a few days, hoping to be comforted by a 
word of approval from his master ; none came. At 
last he determined to seek out Dale Bannister, 
65 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


and was about to start, when his wife came in and 
gave him the new issue of the Chronicle . Ethel 
Roberts was pale and weary-looking, and she 
glanced anxiously at her husband. 

“ I am going up to Littlehill,” he said. 

“ Have you done your round, dear ? ” 

“ My round doesn’t take long now-a-days. 
Maggs will give me fifteen pounds for the pony : 
you know we don’t want him now.” 

“ No, Jim, and we do want fifteen pounds.” 

“ What’s that? ” 

“ The Chronicle , dear. There’s — a letter from 
Mr. Bannister.” 

“ Is there ? Good ! Let’s see what Bannister 
has to say to these bigoted idiots.” 

He opened the paper, and in the middle of the 
front page read : — 

“A Disclaimer from Mr. Bannister. 

“ Sir, — I desire to state that the use made by 
Mr. James Roberts of my poem in your last issue 
was without my authority or approbation. The 
poem was written some years ago, and must not 
be assumed to represent my present view on the 
subject of which it treats. — I am, sir, your obedi- 
ent servant, 

“Dale Bannister.” 

The Doctor stared at the letter. 

“Bannister — Dale Bannister wrote that!” and 
he flung the paper angrily on the floor. “ Give 
me my hat.” 

“ You’re not going — ? ” 

“ Yes, I am, Ethel. I’m going to find out what 
this means.” 


66 


AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE 


“ Hadn’t you better wait till you’re less ” 

“ Less what, Ethel ? What do you mean ? ” 

“Till the rain stops, Jim dear; and it’s just 
baby’s time for coming down.” 

“Hang — no, I beg your pardon, Ethel. I’m 
very sorry, but I must see the end of this.” 

He rushed out, and the baby found a dull, pre- 
occupied, almost tearful, very unamusing mother 
to play with that day. 

The Doctor marched into Dale’s room with a 
stern look on his face. 

“ Well, Roberts, how are you ? ” asked Dale, not 
graciously. 

“ What does this mean, Bannister ? ” 

“ It means, my dear fellow, that you took my 
name in vain, and I had to say so.” 

“I’m not thinking of myself, though it would 
have been more friendly to write to me first.” 

“ Well, I was riled, and didn’t think of that.” 

“ But do you mean to deny your own words ? ” 

“Really, Roberts, you seem to forget that I 
don’t enjoy setting the place by the ears, although 
you seem to.” 

“ You wrote that poem ? ” 

“ Of course I wrote the damned thing,” said Dale 
peevishly. 

“And now — Bannister, you’re not going to — 
to throw us over ? ” 

“ Nonsense ! I like to publish my views at my 
own time and place, that’s all.” 

“A man like you belongs to his followers as 
much as to himself.” 

“ More, it seems.” 

The Doctor looked at him almost scornfully. 
Dale did not like scorn from any one. 

67 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ 1 was particularly anxious,” he began apolo- 
getically, “ not to get into a shindy here. I wanted 

to drop politics and so on, and be friendly ” 

“ Do you know what you’re saying, or the mean- 
ness of it ? ” 

“ Meanness ? What do you mean ? ” 

“You know very well. All I want to know is 
if you wrote this thing ? ” 

“ Of course I wrote it.” 

“ And you stand to it ? ” 

“ Yes. I think you ought to have asked me be- 
fore you did it.” 

“ The Squire is shocked, eh ? ” asked the Doctor 
with a sneer. 

“ The Squire’s views are nothing to me,” an- 
swered Dale, flushing very red. 

The Doctor laughed bitterly. 

“ Come, come, old fellow,” said Dale, “ don’t let 
us quarrel.” 

“Quarrel? Well, we won’t. Only look here, 
Bannister.” 

“ Well?” 

“If you throw us over now, you’ll be ” 

“There, don’t abuse me any more.” 

“ Oh, I wasn’t going to abuse you. If you leave 
us, — you, the leader we trusted, — where are we, 
where are we ? ” 

“Give me another chance,” said Dale, holding 
out his hand. 

“ You won’t withdraw this ? ” 

“ How the deuce can I now ? ” 

The Doctor shook his hand, saying, 

“ Don’t betray us, don’t betray us ; ” and thus 
the very uncomfortable interview came to a de- 
sired end. 


68 


AN INDISCREET DISCIPLE 


That night at dinner Dale was cross and in low 
spirits. His friends, perceiving it, forbore to ex- 
press their views as to his last public utterance, and 
the repast dragged its weary length along amid in- 
termittent conversation. 

When the dessert was on the table, a note was 
brought for Dale. It was from the Squire. 

“ Dear Bannister, — I was very glad to see 
your letter in the Chronicle . Mrs. Delane joins 
me in hoping you will dine with us to-morrow en 
famille . Excuse short notice. The man waits for 
an answer — don’t write one. — Yours truly, 

44 George Delane.” 

“ Say I’ll come with great pleasure,” said Dale, 
his face growing brighter. 

44 Where will he go with great pleasure? ” asked 
Philip of Nellie Fane. 

44 Where is it, Dale ? ” 

44 Oh, only the Grange, to dinner to-morrow. I 
think I had better write a note, though — don’t you 
think so, Phil ? More — more attentive, you know.” 

44 Write, my son,” answered Philip, and, as Dale 
left the room, he looked round with a smile and ex- 
claimed, 44 One ! ” 

44 One what, my dear ? ” asked Mrs. Hodge. 

44 Piece of silver, ma’am,” replied Philip. 

44 You’re sneering again,” said Nellie in a warn- 
ing tone. 4 4 Why shouldn’t he like to dine at the 
Grange ? ” and she looked marvellously reasonable 
and indifferent. 

44 1 was speaking with the voice of Dr. Rob- 
erts, Nellie, that’s all. For my own part, I think a 
dinner is one of those things one may accept even 
from the enemy.” 


69 


CHAPTER IX 


DALE’S OWN OPINION 

If ever our own fortune would allow us to be per- 
fectly happy, the consummation is prevented and 
spoilt by the obstinately intruding unhappiness of 
others. The reverend person who was of opinion 
that the bliss of the blessed would be increased 
and, so to say, vivified by the sight of the tortures 
of the damned, finds few supporters now-a-days, 
perhaps because our tenderer feelings shrink from 
such a ruthless application of the doctrine that 
only by contemplating the worse can we enjoy the 
better ; perhaps also because we are not so sure as 
he was that we should not be the onlooked rather 
than the onlookers if ever his picture came to be 
realised. So sensitive are we to the ills that others 
suffer, that at times we feel almost a grudge against 
them for their persistence — however unwilling it be 
— in marring our perfect contentment; surely they 
could let us forget them for once in a way. 

This last was Dale Bannister’s frame of mind, as 
he lay, idly and yet not peacefully, on his sofa next 
morning. This Doctor, with his unflinching logic 
and unrestrained zeal, was a nuisance. His devo- 
tion had not been sought, and certainly, if it en- 
tailed scenes like yesterday’s, was not desired. 
Dale never asked him to ruin his practice, as 
Philip Hume said he was doing, in order to uphold 
Dale’s principles; Dale did not want a starving 
family to his account, whose hungry looks should 
70 


DALES OWN OPINION 


press him to a close questioning of his conscience. 
Any man with an ounce of common sense would 
understand that there was a time for everything, 
and a place. It was one thing to publish your 
views in a book, addressed to the world of thinkers 
and intelligent readers; it was quite another to 
brandish them in the face of your neighbours, and 
explode them, like shells, in the innocent streets of 
Denborough. And yet, because he recognised this 
obvious distinction, because he had some sense of 
what was suitable and reasonable, and because he 
refused to make enemies of people simply because 
they were well-off, the Doctor stormed at him as 
if he were a traitor and a snob. And Philip Hume 
had taken to smiling in an aggravating way when 
the Grange was mentioned; and even Nellie — but 
Dale, alert as he was in his present mood to dis- 
cover matter of complaint, found none against 
Nellie, unless it might be some falling off in her 
old cheerfulness and buoyancy. 

Dale lit his pipe and set himself to consider with 
impartiality whether Roberts had in fact any griev- 
ance against him. He wanted to satisfy himself 
that there was no basis for the Doctor’s indigna- 
tion ; his self-esteem demanded that the accusation 
should be disproved. But really it was too plain. 
What had he done ? Refused to acquiesce in 
being made a fool of, refused to meet civility with 
incivility, to play the churl, to shut his eyes to in- 
telligence and culture and attractiveness, because 
they happened to be found among people who did 
not think as he did or as Roberts was pleased to 
think. He knew what those sneers meant, but he 
would go his own way. Things had come to a 
pretty pass if a man might not be civil and seek to 
71 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


avoid wholly unnecessary causes of offence without 
being treated as a renegade to all his convictions. 
That was not his idea of breadth of mind or tolera- 
tion, or of good feeling either. It was simple 
bigotry, as narrow as — ay, narrower than — any- 
thing he at least had found on the other side. 

Dale disposed of this question, but he still lay 
on the sofa and thought. It had been a gain to 
him, he said to himself, to see this new side of life ; 
the expedition to Littlehill was well justified. It 
is good for a man to take a flag of truce and go 
talk with the enemy in the gate. He may not 
change his own views, — Dale was conscious of no 
change in his, — but he comes to see how other 
people may hold different ones, and the reason, or 
anyhow the naturalness, of theirs. A man of 
Roberts’ fierce Puritan temper could not feel nor 
appreciate what appealed to him so strongly in 
such a life as they lived, for instance, at the 
Grange. It had a beauty so its own, that un- 
questioned superiority, not grasped as a prize or 
valued as an opportunity, but gravely accepted as 
the parent of duties — the unbroken family life, 
grasping through many hands the torch undimmed 
from reverend antiquity — the very house, which 
seemed to enshrine honourable traditions, at which 
he could not bring himself to sneer. The sweet- 
ness of it all broke back baffled from the wall of 
the Doctor’s stern conviction and iron determina- 
tion. Yet how sweet it all was ! And these people 
welcomed into their circle any man who had a 
claim to welcome ; freely, ungrudgingly, cordially. 
All they asked was a little gentleness to their — he 
supposed they were prejudices — a little deference 
to their prepossessions, a little smoothing off of the 
72 


DALES OWN OPINION 


rougher edges of difference. It was not much to 
ask. Was he churlishly to deny the small con- 
cession, to refuse to meet them any part of the 
w r ay, to entrench himself in the dogmatic intoler- 
ance of his most vehement utterances, to shut his 
mind off from this new source of inspiration? That 
was what Roberts wanted. Well, then — Roberts 
be hanged ! 

The course of these reflections produced in Dale 
a return to his usual equanimity. It was plainly 
impossible to please everybody. He must act as 
seemed right to himself, neglecting the frowns of 
unreasonable grumblers. No doubt Roberts was 
devoted to him, and Arthur Angell too. Yet Rob- 
erts abused him, and Arthur bothered him with im- 
ploring letters, which warned him against the subtle 
temptations of his new life. It was a curious sort 
of devotion which showed itself mainly in criticism 
and disapproval ; it was very flattering of these good 
friends to set him on a pedestal and require him to 
live up to the position; only, unfortunately, the 
pedestal was of their choosing, not his. All he 
asked was to be allowed to live a quiet life and 
work out his own ideas in his own way. If they 
could not put up with that, why — Dale refilled his 
pipe and opened a story by Maupassant. 

It may be asserted that every man is the victim 
of a particular sort of follies, the follies engendered 
by his particular sort of surroundings ; they make 
a fool’s circle within which each of us has a foot 
planted : for the rest, we may be, and no doubt 
generally are, very sensible people. If we set aside 
Squire Delane’s special and indigenous illusions, he 
was very far indeed from a fool, and after dinner 
that evening he treated his distinguished guest with 
6 73 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


no small tact. The young man was beyond ques- 
tion a force ; was it outside of ingenuity to turn him 
in a better direction ? 

“ Everybody approves of your letter,” he said. 
44 Roberts had no business to drag your name in.” 

44 Of course one is exposed to that sort of thing.” 

44 It’s a penalty of greatness. But the case is pe- 
culiar when you’re actually living in the place.” 

44 That’s exactly what I feel. It’s making me a 
party in a local quarrel.” 

44 That’s what he wanted to do ; he wanted to 
fight under your shield.” 

44 1 didn’t come here to fight at all.” 

44 1 should think not; and you haven’t found us 
thirsting for battle, have you ? ” 

44 1 have found a kinder welcome than I had any 
right to expect.” 

44 My dear fellow ! Much as we differ, we’re all 
proud of counting you as a Denshire man. And I 
don’t suppose we shall quarrel much about Den- 
shire affairs. Oh, I know you think the whole sys- 
tem of country life an iniquity. I don’t go so deep 
myself. I say, there it is : perhaps it might be 
changed, but, pending that, sensible men can work 
together to make the best of it. At any rate, they 
can avoid treading on one another’s corns.” 

44 1 want to avoid everybody’s corns — if they’ll 
avoid mine.” 

44 Well, we’ll try. I daresay we shall pull to- 
gether. At any rate, it’s very pleasant dining to- 
gether. Shall we go up-stairs and ask Janet for a 
song ? ” 

Mrs. Delane had evidently caught her cue from 
her husband, and she treated Dale not as a sinner 
who repenteth, — a mode of reception which, after 
74 


DALES OWN OPINION 


all, requires great tact to make it acceptable, — but 
as one who had never been a sinner at all. She 
asked Dale if he had been overwhelmed by callers. 
He replied that he had not suffered much in that 
way. 

“I knew it,” she said. “You have frightened 
them, Mr. Bannister ; they think you came in 
search of studious retirement.” 

“ Oh, I hate both study and retirement, Mrs. 
Delane.” 

“ Well, I shall tell people that — may I? Now, 
when I was at the Cransfords’ yesterday, — he’s our 
Lord-Lieutenant, you know, — they were wonder- 
ing whether they might call.” 

“ I am delighted to see any one.” 

“ From the Mayor upwards — or, I suppose, 
Hedger would think I ought to say downwards. 
We heard what fun you made of the poor man.” 

“ Mr. Bannister will be more respectful to the 
Lord-Lieutenant,” said Janet, smiling. 

“ I suppose I disapprove of Lord- Lieutenants,” 
remarked Dale, with a laugh. 

“ You’ll like Lady Cransford very much, and 
she’ll like you. She gives so many balls, that a 
bachelor household is a godsend.” 

“ Bannister hardly depends on that for a wel- 
come, my dear,” said the Squire from the hearth- 
rug. 

“ Now I declare, meeting him just as a friend 
like this, I’m always forgetting that he’s a famous 
man.” 

“ Please go on, Mrs. Delane. It’s a capital ex- 
change. But when are you going to give me the 
pleasure of seeing you at Littlehill ? ” 

Mrs. Delane paused for just a second. 

75 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ I should like to visit your hermit’s cell. But 
I’m so busy just now, and I daresay you are. 
When your guests forsake you, perhaps we will 
come and relieve your solitude. Janet, will you 
give us some music ? ” 

Dale followed Janet to the piano, with a little 
frown on his brow. Why wouldn’t she come now ? 
Was it — ? Janet’s voice dispersed the frown and 
the reflection. 

She sang a couple of songs, choosing them out of 
a book. As she turned over the leaves, Dale saw 
that some of the airs were set to words of his own 
writing. When Janet came to one of these, she 
turned the leaf hastily. The Squire had gone out, 
and Mrs. Delane, with the privilege of near rela- 
tionship, was absorbed in a novel. 

44 Will you do me a great favour? ” he said. 

“ What, Mr. Bannister ? ” 

“ I should like to hear you sing words of mine. 
See, here are two or three.” 

She glanced through them ; then she shut the 
book and made as though to rise. 

44 You won’t do it ? ” 

Janet blushed and looked troubled. 

“ I’m so sorry, Mr. Bannister ; but I can’t sing 
those words. I — I don’t like them.” 

“ I am sorry they are so bad,” he answered in an 
offended tone. 

“ Oh, of course, so far as power and — and beauty 
goes, everything in the book is trash compared to 
them. But I can’t sing them.” 

“ I won’t press you.” 

4 4 1 know you are angry. Please don’t be angry, 
Mr. Bannister. I can’t do what I think wrong, 
can I?” 


76 


DALES OWN OPINION 


“ Oh, I have no right to be angry.” 

“ There, you wouldn’t say that unless you were 
angry. People never do.” 

“ You have such a wretchedly bad opinion of me, 
Miss Delane.” 

“ Do you mind that? ” 

“ You know I do.” 

“ Then one would think you would try to change 

“Ah, how can I?” 

“ Write something I should delight in singing.” 

“ If I do, may I dedicate it to you ? ” 

“ I’m afraid that wouldn’t be allowed.” 

“ But if it were allowed, would you allow it ? ” 

“ You know how proud any girl would be of it — 
of course you know.” 

“ You don’t do justice to my humility.” 

“Do justice to yourself first, Mr. Bannister.” 

“ What sort of songs do you like ? ” 

“ Oh, anything honest, and manly, and patriotic, 
and — and nice in feeling.” 

“ A catholic taste — and yet none of mine satisfy 
it.” 

“ I will not be quarrelled with,” declared Janet. 

“ My only wish is to propitiate you.” 

“ Then you know now how to do it.” 

It must be allowed that conversations of this 
nature have a pleasantness of their own, and Dale 
left the Grange with a delightful feeling of having 
been treated as he ought to be treated. He found 
Philip Hume writing and smoking in the study. 

“Well, been stroked the right way, old man?” 
asked Philip, throwing down his pen. 

Dale helped himself to whisky and soda-water, 
without replying. 


77 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“I’ve been having a talk with Nellie,” pursued 
Philip. 

“ What’s wrong with Nellie ? ” 

“ She’s got some notion in her head that she and 
her mother ought to go.” 

Dale was lighting a cigar. 

“ Of course I told her it was all nonsense, and 
that you meant them to stay as long as they liked. 
She’s got some maggot in her head about propriety 
— all nonsense, when her mother’s here.” 

“ I don’t want them to go, if they like staying,” 
said Dale. 

“Well, we should be slow without Nellie, 
shouldn’t we? You must blow her up for think- 
ing of it. She only wants to be persuaded.” 

“ She can do as she likes.” 

“ You don’t seem very enthusiastic about it one 
way or the other.” 

“ Well, my dear Phil, I can’t be expected to cry 
at the idea of little Nellie Fane leaving us.” 

“Yet you made rather a point of her coming — 
but that was two months ago.” 

“Really, you might leave Nellie and me to set- 
tle it.” 

“ What I told her was right, I suppose ? ” 

“ W ell, you don’t suppose I wanted you to tell 
her to pack up ? ” 

“ I don’t know what you want, old man,” said 
Philip ; “ and I doubt if you do.” 


78 


CHAPTER X 


A PREJUDICED VERDICT 

It has been contumeliously said by insolent Eng- 
lishmen — a part of our population which may 
sometimes seem to foreign eyes as large as the 
whole — that you might put any other of the 
world’s capitals, say Paris or New York, down in 
London, and your cabman would not be able to 
find it. However this may be, — and there is no 
need in this place either for assertions or admis- 
sions, — it is certain that you might unload a wag- 
onful of talents in Piccadilly, and they would 
speedily be absorbed and leave little obvious trace 
of the new ingredient. Hence the advantage, for 
a man who does not dislike the digit o monstrari et 
dicier “ hie est of dwelling in small places, and 
hence, a cynic might suggest, the craving for 
quieter quarters displayed by some of our less con- 
spicuous celebrities. It is better, says a certain 
authority, to reign in hell than serve in heaven; 
and a man may grow weary of walking unrecog- 
nised down the Strand, when he has only, to be 
the beheld of all beholders, to take up his residence 
in — perhaps it will be more prudent to say Market 
Denborough, and not point the finger of printed 
scorn at any better-known resort. 

This very ungenerous explanation was the one 
which Miss Victoria Smith chose to adopt as ac- 
counting for Dale Bannister’s coming to Littlehill. 
Such an idea had never crossed her mind at first, 
79 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


but it became evident that a man who could leave 
his friend in the lurch and palter with his princi- 
ples, as Dale’s letter to the Chronicle showed him 
to be doing, could only be credited with any dis- 
coverable motive less bad and contemptible than 
the worst through mere hastiness and ill-considered 
good-nature. For her part, she liked a man to 
stick to his colours and to his friends, and not be 
ashamed before the tea-tables of Denshire. No, 
she had never read his poems, she had no time, but 
papa had, and agreed with every word of them. 

“ Gad ! does he ? ” said Sir Harry Fulmer, to 
whom these views were expressed. “ Well played 
the Colonel! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, some of them made me sit up rather,” 
remarked Sir Harry. 

“ Oh, anything would make you ‘ sit up,’ as 
you call it. I don’t consider you a Radical.” 

“ I voted for your friend the Doctor anyhow.” 

“ Yes, that was good of you. You were the 
only one with an elementary sense of justice.” 

Sir Harry’s sense of justice, elementary or other, 
had had very little to do with his vote, but he said 
with honest pride, 

“ Somebody ought to stand by a fellow when 
he’s down.” 

“ Especially when he’s in the right.” 

“ Well, I don’t quite see, Miss Smith, what 
business it was of Roberts’ to cut up the Vicar’s 
sermon. Naturally the Vicar don’t like it.” 

“ So he takes his medicine from Dr. Spink ! ” 

“ Rather awkward for him to have Roberts 
about the place.” 

“ Oh, of course you defend him.” 

80 


A PREJUDICED VERDICT 


^ 44 The Vicar s a very good fellow, though he’s a 

44 You seem to think all Tories good fellows.” 

44 So they are, most of them.” 

“I suppose you think Mr. Bannister’s right 
too ? ” 

44 I shouldn’t be so down on him as you are.” 

44 You like people who lead their friends on and 
then forsake them ? ” 

44 Bannister never asked him to write the letter.” 

44 W ell, it’s not my idea of friendship. I wouldn’t 
have a friend who thought that conduct right.” 

44 Then I think it deuced wrong,” said Sir Harry 
promptly. 

44 It’s no compliment to a woman to treat her 
like a baby,” remarked Tora, with dignity. 

Sir Harry perceived that it would be to his ad- 
vantage to change the subject. 

44 Are you going skating ? ” he asked. 44 There’s 
nothing else to do in this beastly frost.” 

44 Does the ice bear ? ” 

44 Yes, they’re skating on the Grange lake. I 
met Hume, Bannister’s friend, and he told me Ban- 
nister was there.” 

44 Wasn’t he going ? I rather like him.” 

44 No, he was walking with Miss Fane. I believe 
I rather put my foot in it by asking her if she 
wasn’t going.” 

44 Why shouldn’t you ? ” 

44 She said she didn’t know Mrs. Delane, and 
looked confused, don’t you know ? ” 

44 Hasn’t Mrs. Delane called ? ” 

44 It seems not,” said Sir Harry. 

44 1 wonder how long they are going to stay at 
Littlehill ? ” 


81 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ For ever, apparently. Shall you come to the 
lake ? ” 

“ Perhaps in the afternoon.” 

Tora returned to the house, still wondering. She 
was very angry with Dale, and prepared to think 
no good of him. Was it possible that she and the 
Colonel had been hasty in stretching out the hand 
of welcome to Mrs. Hodge and her daughter? 
For all her independence, Tora liked to have Mrs. 
Delane’s imprimatur on the women of her acquaint- 
ance. She thought she would have a word with 
the Colonel, and went to seek him in his study. 
He was not there, but it chanced that there lay on 
the table a copy of Dale’s first published volume, 
The Clarion . Three-quarters of the little book 

were occupied with verses on matters of a more or 
less public description, — beliefs past and future, 
revolutions effected and prayed for, and so forth: 
the leaves bore marks of use, and evidently were 
often turned by the Colonel. But bound up with 
them was a little sheaf of verses of an amatory 
character : where these began, the Colonel’s interest 
appeared to cease, for the pages were uncut; he 
had only got as far as the title. It was not so with 
his daughter. Having an idle hour and some in- 
terest in the matters and affairs of love, she took a 
paper-knife and sat down to read. Poets are, by 
ancient privilege, legibus soluti , and Dale certainly 
revelled in his freedom. Still, perhaps, the verses 
were not in reality so very, very atrocious as they 
unhappily appeared to the young lady who now 
read them. Tora was accustomed to consider her- 
self almost a revolutionary spirit, and her neigh- 
bours, half in earnest, half in joke, encouraged the 
idea; but her revolutions were to be very strictly 
82 


A PREJUDICED VERDICT 


confined, and the limits of her free-thought were 
marked out by most unyielding metes and bounds 
— bounds that stopped very short at the church 
door and on the domestic threshold. This frame 
of mind is too common to excite comment, and it 
had been intensified in her by the social surround- 
ings against which she was in mock revolt. Dale’s 
freedom knew no trammels, or had known none 
when he wrote The Clarion — nothing was sacred 
to him except truth, everything as nothing beside 
reason, reason the handmaid of passion, wherein 
the spirit and individuality of each man found its 
rightful expression. This theory, embodied in a 
poet’s fancy and enlivened by a young man’s ar- 
dour, made fine verses, but verses which startled 
Tora Smith. She read for half an hour, and then, 
flinging the book down and drawing a long breath, 
exclaimed, “ I can believe anything of him now ! ” 

And she had had this man to dinner! And that 
girl ! Who was that girl ? 

The Colonel came home to luncheon in very 
good spirits. He had just succeeded, in the in- 
terests of freedom, in stirring up a spirit of active 
revolt in Alderman Johnstone. The Alderman 
had hitherto, like his father before him, occupied 
his extensive premises on a weekly tenancy ; he had 
never been threatened with molestation or eviction ; 
but he felt that he existed on sufferance, and the 
consciousness of his precarious position had been 
irksome to him. A moment had come when the 
demand for houses was slack, when two or three 
were empty, and when the building trade itself was 
nearly at a standstill. The Colonel had incited 
Johnstone to seize the opportunity to ask from the 
Squire a lease, and Johnstone had promised to take 
83 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


nothing less than 4 seven, fourteen, or twenty-one. ’ 
If refused, he declared he would surrender the 
premises and build for himself on some land of the 
Colonel’s just outside the town. 

“Delane must grant it,” said the Colonel, rub- 
bing his hands, 44 and then we shall have one house 
anyhow where our bills can be put up. Bannister 
will be delighted. By the way, Tora, he wants us 
to go in to tea to-day, after skating. I suppose 
you’re going to skate ? ” 

4 4 1 am going to skate, but I am not going to 
Mr. Bannister’s,” said Tora coldly. 

44 Why not? ” 

The Colonel was told why not with explicitness 
and vehemence. He tugged his white whisker in 
some perplexity : he did not mind much about the 
poems, though, of course, no excess of scrupulous- 
ness could be too great in a girl like Tora; but if 
she were right about the other affair ! That must 
be looked into. 

The Colonel was one of those people who pride 
themselves on tact and savoir faire ; he aggra- 
vated this fault by believing that tact and candour 
could be combined in a happy union, and he deter- 
mined to try the effect of the mixture on Dale 
Bannister. It would go hard if he did not destroy 
this mare’s nest of Tora’s. 

All the neighbourhood was skating on the 
Grange lake under a winter sun, whose ruddy rays 
tinged the naked trees, and drew an answering 
glitter from the diamond-paned windows of the 
house. The reeds were motionless, and the graze 
of skates on the ice sounded sharp in the still air, 
and struck the ear through the swishing of birch 
brooms and the shuffle of sweepers’ feet. From 
84 


A PREJUDICED VERDICT 


time to time a sudden thud and a peal of laughter 
following told of disaster, or there grated across the 
lake a chair, carrying one who preferred the con- 
quest of men to the science of equilibrium. Rosy 
cheeks glowed, nimble feet sped, and lissom figures 
swayed to and fro as they glided over the shining 
surface, till even the old and the stout, the cripples 
and the fox-hunters, felt the glow of life tingling 
in their veins, and the beauty of the world feeding 
their spirits with fresh desire. “ It is not all of life to 
live,” but, at such a moment, it is the best part of it. 

Dale Bannister was enjoying himself ; he was a 
good skater, and it gave him pleasure that, when 
people turned to look at the famous poet, they 
should see an athletic youth : only he wished that 
Janet Delane would give him an opportunity of 
offering his escort, and not appear so contented 
with the company of a tall man of military bearing, 
who had come down to the water with the Grange 
party. He was told that the new-comer was Cap- 
tain Ripley, Lord Cransford’s eldest son, and he 
did not escape without witnessing some of the nods 
and becks which, in the country, where everybody 
knows everybody, accompany the most incipient 
stages of a supposed love-affair. Feeling, under 
these circumstances, a little desolate, for Philip was 
engrossed in figures and would not waste his time 
talking, he saw with pleasure Tora Smith and Sir 
Harry coming towards him. He went to meet 
them, and, at a distance of a few yards from them, 
slackened his pace and lifted his hat, not doubting 
of friendly recognition. Sir Harry returned his 
salute with a cheery “ How are you ? ” but did not 
stop, for Tora swept on past Dale Bannister, with- 
out a glance at him. In surprise, he paused. “ She 
85 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


must have seen me,” he thought, “ but why in the 
world — ?” Bent on being sure, he put himself 
right in her path, as she completed the circle and 
met him again. There was no mistaking her in- 
tention : she gave him the cut direct, as clearly and 
as resolutely as ever it was given. 

Sir Harry had remonstrated in vain. In Tora’s 
uncompromising mind, impulse did not wait on 
counsel, and her peremptory “ I have my reasons ” 
refused all information and prevented all persuasion. 
He felt he had done enough for friendship when he 
braved her disapproval by declining to follow her 
example. He did not pretend to understand the 
ways of woman, and Dale Bannister might fight 
his own battles. 

While Dale was yet standing in angry bewilder- 
ment, — for who had received him with more cordi- 
ality than she who now openly insulted him ? — he 
saw the Colonel hobbling towards him across the 
slippery expanse. The Colonel fell once, and Dale 
heard him swear testily at the sweeper who helped 
him to rise. He thought it kind to meet him half 
way : perhaps the Colonel would explain. The 
Colonel was most ready to do so ; in fact, he had 
come for the very purpose of warning Bannister 
that some silly idea was afloat, which it only needed 
a word to scatter. 

“ Is there ? ” said Dale. “ Possibly that is why 
Miss Smith failed to see me twice just now ? ” 

“Your poems have shocked her, my boy,” said 
the Colonel, with a knowing look — the look that 
represented tact and s avoir fair e. 

“ Is that all ? She takes rather severe measures, 
doesn’t she? ” 

“Well,” answered the Colonel, with the smile 
86 


A PREJUDICED VERDICT 


which brought candour into play, “ that isn’t quite 


“ What in the world else is there ? ” 

“ You know how censorious people are, and how 
a girl takes alarm at the very idea of anything — 
you know ? ” 

Dale chafed at these diplomatic approaches. 

“ If there’s anything said against me, pray let me 
know.” 

“ Oh, it’s nothing very definite,” said the Colonel 
uneasily. He did not find what he had to say so 
simple as it had seemed. 

“ Indefinite things are most hopeless.” 

“Yes, yes, quite so. Well, if you really wish it 
— if you won’t be offended — No doubt it’s all a 
mistake.” 

“ What do they say ? ” 

“ Well, we’re men of the world, Bannister. The 
fact is, people don’t quite understand your — your 
household.” 

“ My household ? It consists of myself alone 
and the servants.” 

“ Of course, my dear fellow, of course ! I knew 
it was so, but I am glad to be able to say so on 
your own authority.” 

The aim of speech is, after all, only to convey 
ideas : the Colonel had managed, however clum- 
sily, to convey his idea. Dale frowned, and pre- 
tended to laugh. 

“ How absurd ! ” he said. “ I should resent it if 
it were not too absurd.” 

“ I’m sure, Bannister, you’ll acquit me of any 
meddling.” 

“ Oh yes. I’m sorry my guests have given rise, 
however innocently, to such talk.” 

87 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ It’s most unfortunate. I’m sure nothing more 
is needed. I hope the ladies are well ? ” 

“ Yes, thanks.” 

“ I don’t see them here.” 

“ No, they’re not here,” answered Dale, frowning 
again. 

“ I hope we shall see some more of them ? ” 

“ You’re very kind. I — I don’t suppose they — 
will be staying much longer.” 

As Dale made his way to the bank to take off 
his skates, Janet and Tora passed him together. 
Tora kept her eyes rigidly fixed on the chimneys of 
the Grange. He made no sign of expecting recog- 
nition, but Janet, as she drew near, looked at him, 
blushing red, and bowed and smiled. 

“ That girl’s a trump,” said Dale Bannister. 
“ She sticks to her friends.” 


CHAPTER XI 


A FABLE ABOUT BIRDS 

Mrs. Hodge and Nellie, being left to their own 
resources, had employed the afternoon in paying a 
visit to Ethel Roberts, and nothing was wanting to 
fill Dale’s cup of vexation to overflowing, unless it 
were to have Nellie flying open-mouthed at him, 
as he grumblingly expressed it, with a tale of the 
distress in the Doctor’s household. Ethel Roberts 
had the fortitude to bear her troubles, the added 
fortitude to bear them cheerfully, but not the su- 
preme fortitude which refuses to tell a tale of woe 
to any ear, however sympathetic. She did not vol- 
unteer information, but she did allow it to be 
dragged out of her, and the barriers of her reserve 
broke down before Mrs. Hodge’s homely consola- 
tions and Nellie’s sorrowful horror. They were 
reduced, she admitted, in effect to living on little 
else than her own wretched income; the practice 
brought in hardly more than it took out, for, while 
the rich patients failed, the poor remained ; the rent 
was overdue, bills were unpaid, and the butcher, the 
milkman, and the coal- merchant were growing sulky. 

“ And while,” said Mrs. Hodge, “ that poor 
young creature is pinching, and starving, and cry- 
ing, the man’s thinking of nothing but Nihilists and 
what not. I’d Nihilist him ! ” 

Dinner was served to Dale with sauce of this sort. 

“ Can I prevent fools suffering for their folly ? ” 
he asked. 


7 


89 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“The baby looks so ill,” said Nellie, “and Mrs. 
Roberts is worn to a shadow.” 

“ Did you see Roberts ? ” asked Philip. 

“For a minute,” said Nellie, “but he was very 
cold and disagreeable.” 

“ Thought you were tarred with the same brush 
as Dale, I suppose ? ” 

“ Can’t you do anything for ’em, Dale ? ” asked 
Mrs. Hodge. 

“ I can send him a cheque.” 

“ He’ll send it back,” remarked Philip. 

“ I wish he’d get out of the place.” 

“Yes, he might as well be miserable somewhere 
else, mightn’t he ? ” 

Dale glared at his friend, and relapsed into silence. 
Nevertheless, in spite of Philip’s prediction, he sat 
down after dinner and wrote to Roberts, saying 
that he had heard that he was in temporary em- 
barrassment, and urging him to allow Dale to be 
his banker for the moment; this would, Dale 
added, be the best way of showing that he bore no 
malice for Dale’s letter. He sent a man with the 
note, ordering him to wait for an answer. 

The answer was not long in coming; the man 
was back in half an hour, bringing the Doctor’s 
reply 

“ Three months ago, I should have thought it 
an honour to share my last crust with you, and no 
shame to ask half of all you had. Now I will not 
touch a farthing of your money, until you come 
back to us. If your friends pay my wife further 
visits, I shall be obliged if they will look somewhat 
less keenly at my household arrangements. 

“ James Roberts.” 


90 


A FABLE ABOUT BIRDS 


“ There is the snub you have brought on me ! ” 
exclaimed Dale angrily, flinging the letter to Nel- 
lie. “ I might have known better than to listen to 
your stories.” 

“ Dale, Dale, it was every word true. How self- 
ish he is not to think of his wife ! ” 

“ Many people are selfish.” 

“ Is anything the matter, Dale ? ” 

“ Oh, I’m infernally worried. I never get any 
peace.” 

“ Hadn’t you a good time skating? ” 

“ No. I’m beginning to hate this place.” 

“ Oh, Dale ! I’ve enjoyed my visit so much.” 

“ Very glad to hear it, I’m sure.” 

“You must have seen it; we’ve stayed so long. 
I’ve often told mamma we ought to be going.” 

Dale lit a cigarette. 

“Indeed we have had no mercy on you, Dale; 
but the country and the rest are so delightful.” 

“ Hum — in some ways.” 

“ But I must be back at work. Mamma thought 
next Saturday would do.” 

“As soon as that? ’’said Dale, with polite sur- 
prise. 

“ Think how long we have been here.” 

“ Oh, don’t go on Saturday ! ” 

Nellie’s face brightened. 

“ Don’t you want us to? ” she asked, with an 
eager little smile. Dale was going to be kind 
after all. 

“ No. Why shouldn’t you stay till Monday ? ” 

The face fell, the smile disappeared ; but she 
answered, saving her self-respect, 

“ Saturday is more convenient for — for arriving in 
town. I think we had better fix Saturday, Dale.” 

91 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“As you like. Sorry to lose you, Nell.” 

He sauntered off to the smoking-room to join 
Philip. When Philip came into the drawing-room 
half an hour later in search of a book, he found 
Nellie sitting before the fire. He took his stand 
on the hearth-rug, and looked steadily down on 
her. 

“ Once upon a time,” he said, “ there was a very 
beautiful bird who, as it chanced, grew up with a 
lot of crows. For a long while he liked the crows, 
and the crows liked him — very much, some of them. 
Both he and the crows were pleased when the eagles 
and all the swell birds admired him, and said nice 
things about him, and wanted to know him — and 
the crows who liked him most, were most pleased. 
Presently he did come to know the eagles and the 
other swell birds, and he liked them very much, and 
he began to get a little tired of the old crows, and 
by and by he left their company a good deal. He 
was a polite bird, and a kind bird, and never told 
them that he didn’t want them any more. But 
they saw he didn’t.” 

There was a little sob from the arm-chair. 

“ Whereupon some of them broke their hearts, 
and others — didn’t. The others were wisest, Nel- 
lie.” 

He paused, gazing down at the distressful little 
heap of crumpled drapery and roughened gleaming 
hair. 

“ Much wisest. He was not a bad bird as birds 
go — but not a bird to break one’s heart about, Nel- 
lie : what bird is? ” 

There was another sob. Philip looked despair- 
ingly at the ceiling, and exclaimed under his 
breath, 


92 


A FABLE ABOUT BIRDS 


44 I wish to God she wouldn’t cry ! ” 

He took his book from the mantelpiece where 
he had laid it and moved towards the door. But 
he came back again, unable to leave her like that, 
and walked restlessly about the room, stopping 
every now and then to stand over her, and wonder 
what he could do. 

Presently he took a feverish little hand in his, 
and pressed it as it lay limp there. 

44 The old crows stood by one another, Nellie,” 
he said, and he thought he felt a sudden grip of his 
hand, coming and timidly in an instant going. 

It seemed to comfort her to hold his hand. The 
sobs ceased, and presently she looked up and said, 
with a smile, 

44 1 always used to cry at going back to school.” 

44 Going back to work,” said Philip, 44 is one of the 
few things in the world really worth crying about.” 

44 Yes, isn’t it?” she said, unblushingly availing 
herself of the shelter of his affected cynicism. She 
was afraid he might go on talking about crows, a 
topic which had been all very well, and even a lit- 
tle comforting, when she was hidden among the 
cushions, but would not do now. 

44 And London is so horrid in winter,” she con- 
tinued. 44 Are you going back soon? ” 

44 Oh, I shall wait a little and look after Dale.” 

44 Dale never tells one what is happening.” 

44 I’ll keep you posted, in case there’s a revolu- 
tion in Denborough, or anything of that sort.” 

A step was heard outside. With a sudden bound 
Nellie reached the piano, sat down, and began to 
play a lively air. Dale came in, looking suspiciously 
at the pair. 

44 1 thought you’d gone to bed, Nellie.” 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“Just going. Mr. Hume and I have been talking.” 

“ About the affairs of the nation,” said Philip. 

“ But I’m off now. Good-night, Dale.” 

Dale looked closely at her. 

“ What are your eyes red for? Have you been 
crying? ” 

“ Crying , Dale ? What nonsense ! I’ve been 
roasting them before the fire, that’s all ; and if they 
are red, it’s not polite to say so, is it, Mr. Hume ? ” 

“ Rightly understood, criticism is a compliment, 
as the reviewers say when they slate you,” re- 
marked Philip. “ He might not have noticed your 
eyes at all.” 

“ Inconceivable,” said Dale politely, for he was 
feeling very kindly-disposed to this pretty girl, who 
came when he wanted her, and went when — well, 
after a reasonably long visit. 

“ Good-night, Dale. I’m so sorry about — Mr. 
Roberts, you know.” 

Dale, having no further use for this grievance, 
was graciously pleased to let it be forgotten. 

“ Oh, you couldn’t know he’d be such a brute. 
Good-night, Nellie.” 

The two men returned to the smoking-room. 
Philip, looking for a piece of paper wherewith to 
light his pipe, happened to notice a little bundle of 
proof-sheets lying on the table. 

“ Ah, the spring bubbling again ? ” he asked. 

Dale nodded. 

“ My dear fellow, how are the rest of us to get 
our masterpieces noticed? You are a monopolist.” 

“ It’s only a little volume.” 

“ What’s it about? May I look ? ” 

“ Oh, if you like,” answered Dale carelessly; but 
he kept his eye on his friend. 

94 


A FABLE ABOUT BIRDS 


Philip took up the first sheet, and read the title- 
page; he smiled, and, turning over, came to the 
dedication. 

44 You call it Amor Patrice ? ” 

44 Yes. Do you like the title ? ” 

4 4 Hum ! There was no thought of pleasing me 
when it was christened, I presume. And you dedi- 
cate it ” 

44 Oh, is that there ? ” 

44 Yes, that’s there — 4 To her that shall be named 
hereafter .’ ” 

Dale poked the fire before he answered. 

44 Yes,” he said, 44 that’s the dedication.” 

44 So I see. Well, I hope she’ll like them. It is 
an enviable privilege to confer immortality.” 

44 I’ll confer it on you, if you like.” 

44 Yes, do. It will be less trouble than getting 
it for myself.” 

44 Under the title of 4 The Snarler.’ ” 

Philip stood on the hearth-rug and warmed him- 
self. 

44 My dear Dale, ” he said, 44 1 do not snarl. A 
wise author pleases each section of the public in 
turn. Hitherto you have pleased me and my kind, 
and Roberts and his kind, and Arthur Angell and 
his kind — who are, by the way, not worth pleasing, 
for they expect presentation copies. Now, in this 
new work, which is, I understand, your tribute to 
the nation which has the honour to bear you, you 
will please — ” He paused. 

44 1 always write to please myself,” said Dale. 

“Yourself,” continued Philip, 44 this mysterious 
lady, and, I think we may add, the Mayor of Mar- 
ket Denborough.” 

44 Go to the devil ! ” said the poet 
95 


CHAPTER XII 


A DEDICATION— AND A DESECRATION 

A few weeks later, the Mayor stood at his door, 
one bright morning in January, holding a parley 
with Alderman Johnstone. 

“ I dessay now,” said the Mayor, “ that you ain’t 
been in the way of seem’ the Squire lately ? ” 

“ I see him last when he signed my lease,” an- 
swered the Alderman, with a grim smile, “and 
that’s a month come to-morrow.” 

“ I had a conversation with him yesterday, and 
after touchin’ on the matter of that last pavin’ con- 
tract, — he’d heard o’ your son-in-law gettin’ it, 
Johnstone, — he got talkin’ about Mr. Bannister.” 

“ Ay? did he ? ” 

“ And about his noo book. 4 It’s a blessin’, ’ he 
say<;. ‘ to see a young man of such promise shakin’ 
himself free of that pestilential trash.’ He meant 
your opinions by that, Johnstone.” 

“ Supposing ’e did, what then? I don’t label my 
opinions to please the customers like as some do 
their physic.” 

The Mayor was not in a fighting mood; his 
mind was busy with speculations, and he ignored 
the challenge. 

“Queer start Mr. Bannister showin’ up at the 
church bazaar, eh ? Spent a heap o’ money, too. 
I met Mr. Hume, and asked him about it, and he 
said ” 

“ It wa’n’t no business o’ yours, didn’t he ? ” 

96 


DEDICATION— AND DESECRATION 


“ Mr. Hume — he’s a gentleman, Johnstone,” re- 
marked the Mayor in grave rebuke. 

44 Well, what did ’e say? ” 

“ That where the carcase was, the eagles ’ud be 
gathered together.” 

Mr. Johnstone smiled a smile of pity for the 
Mayor’s density. 

“ Well, what do you suppose he meant ? ” asked 
the Mayor in reply to the smile. 

44 Where the gells is, the lads is,” said the Aider- 
man, with a wink, as he passed on his way. 

This most natural, reasonable, and charitable ex- 
planation of Dale’s conduct in identifying himself 
with the Vicar’s pastoral labours had, oddly enough, 
suggested itself to no one else, unless it might be 
to Captain Gerard Ripley. His presence had been 
hailed on the one side, and anathematised on the 
other, as an outward sign of an inward conversion, 
and his lavish expenditure had been set down to a 
repentant spirit rather than a desire to gratify any 
particular stall-holder. The Vicar had just read 
Amor Patrice , and he remarked to every one he 
met that the transition from an appreciation of the 
national greatness to an adhesion to the national 
Church was but a short step. 

Unhappily, in a moment of absence, he chanced 
to say so to Colonel Smith, who was at the bazaar 
for the purpose of demonstrating his indifferent 
impartiality towards all religious sects. 

44 You might as well say,” answered the Colonel 
in scorn, 44 that because a man stands by the reg- 
iment, he’s bound to be thick with the chaplain.” 

Captain Ripley alone, with the penetration born 
of jealousy, attributed Dale’s presence simply and 
solely to the same motive as had produced his own, 
97 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


to wit, a desire to be where Miss Delane was. The 
Captain was a little sore; he had known Janet 
from childhood, they had exchanged many chil- 
dren’s vows, and when he was sixteen and she 
thirteen, she had accepted a Twelfth Night cake 
ring from him. The flirtation had always proceeded 
in its gentle ambling course, and the Captain had 
returned on long leave with the idea that it was 
time to put the natural termination in the way of 
being reached. Janet disappointed him ; she rid- 
iculed his tender references to bygone days, char- 
acterising what had passed as boy-and-girl non- 
sense, and perseveringly kept their intercourse on 
a dull level of friendliness. On the other hand, 
whatever might be the nature of her acquaintance 
with Dale Bannister, it was at least clear that it 
was marked by no such uneventful monotony. 
Sometimes she would hardly speak to him; at 
others she cared to speak to no one else. The 
Captain would have profited ill by the opportu- 
nities a residence in garrison towns offers, if he had 
not recognised that these changeful relations were 
fraught with peril to his hopes. 

At the bazaar, for example, he was so much 
moved by a long conversation between Janet and 
Dale, which took place over the handing of a cup 
of tea, that he unburdened himself to his friend Sir 
Harry Fulmer. Now Sir Harry was in a bad tem- 
per ; he had his object in attending as the Captain 
had, and Colonel Smith had just told him that 
Tora was not coming. 

“ Who is the fellow ? ” demanded Captain Rip- 


ley. 


“ Writes 
“ I never 


poetry. 1 
heard o 


of him.” 


98 


DEDICATION— AND DESECRATION 


“ I daresay not. It’s not much in your line, is 
it ? ” 

“ Well, he’s a queer-looking beggar.” 

“Think so? Now I call him a good-looking 
chap.” 

“ Why the deuce doesn’t he get his hair cut ? ” 

“Don’t know. Perhaps Janet Delane likes it 
long.” 

“ I hate that sort of fellow, Harry.” 

“ He’s not a bad chap.” 

“ Does the Squire like him ? ” 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care. How beastly 
hot this room is ! I shall go.” 

“ I say, Harry, I’ve only just come back, you 
know. Is there anything on ? ” 

“Well, if you want to take a hand, I should cut 
in pretty sharp,” said Sir Harry, elbowing his way 
to the door. 

Captain Ripley, impatiently refusing to buy a 
negro doll which the Vicar’s daughter pressed on 
his favourable notice, leant against the wall and 
grimly regarded Dale Bannister. 

The latter was just saying, 

“ Have you looked at the verses at all, Miss 
Delane? ” 

“ I have read every one, over and over. They 
are splendid.” 

“ Oh, I’m new to that sort of thing.” 

“ Yes, but it’s so — such a joy to me to see you 
doing what is really worthy of you.” 

“ If there’s any credit, it’s yours.” 

“ Now why do you say that ? It isn’t true, and 
it just spoils it.” 

“ Spoils it ? ” said Dale, who thought girls liked 
compliments. 


99 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Yes. If you had really only done it to please 
— an individual, it would be worth nothing. You 
couldn’t help doing it. I knew you couldn’t.” 

“ At any rate, you must accept the responsibility 
of having put it into my head.” 

“ Not even that, Mr. Bannister.” 

“ Oh, but that’s the meaning of the dedication.” 

No one is quite free from guile. Janet answered, 

“ The dedication is rather mysterious, Mr. Ban- 
nister.” 

“ I meant it to be so to all the world.” 

“ Oh, did you ? ” 

“ Except you.” 

Janet blushed and smiled. 

“ I wonder,” pursued Dale, “ if I shall ever be 
allowed to name that lady ? ” 

“ That will depend on whether she wishes it.” 

“ Of course. Do you think she will — here- 
after ? ” 

“ Won’t you have another cup? It’s only half 
a crown.” 

“ Yes, two more, please. Do you think she 
will ? ” 

“ How thirsty you seem to be ! ” 

“Will she?” 

“Now, Mr. Bannister, I mustn’t neglect all my 
customers. See, Mrs. Gilkison is selling nothing.” 

“ But will she?” 

“ Certainly not — unless you go and buy some- 
thing from Mrs. Gilkison.” 

Now, whether Janet were really concerned for 
Mrs. Gilkison, or whether she had caught sight of 
Captain Ripley’s lowering countenance, or whether 
she merely desired to avoid pledging herself to 
Dale, it is immaterial, and also impossible to say. 
100 


DEDICATION— AND DESECRATION 


Dale felt himself dismissed, with the consolation 
of perceiving that his dedication had not been un- 
favourably received in the quarter to which it was 
addressed. 

Accordingly it was in a cheerful frame of mind 
that he set out for home, scattering most of his pur- 
chases among the children before he went. 

He was in a kindly mood, and when he saw 
James Roberts coming up High Street, he did not, 
as he had once or twice lately, cross the road to 
avoid meeting him, but held on his path, deter- 
mined to offer a friendly greeting. 

When the Doctor came up, he stopped and took 
from his breast-pocket the little green volume which 
contained Dale’s latest poems. He held it up be- 
fore the author’s eyes. 

44 Ah, Roberts, I see you have the new work. 
How do you like it ? ” 

He tried to speak easily, but the Doctor did not 
appear to be in a conciliatory temper. 

44 Are these things really yours ? ” he asked. 

44 Of course they are.” 

44 This wretched Jingo doggrel, yours ? ” 

Dale felt this unjust. The verses might not ex- 
press the Doctor’s views, but an immortal poet’s 
works are not lightly to be called doggrel. 

44 What a narrow-minded beggar you are I” he 
exclaimed. 

The Doctor answered nothing. Buttoning up 
his threadbare coat, so as to leave his arms free, 
with an effort he tore the leaves from their cover, 
rent them across, flung them on the road, and trod 
them into the mud. Then, without a word, he 
passed on his way, while Dale stood and stared at 
the dishonoured wreck. 


101 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ He’s mad — stark mad ! ” he declared at last. 
“ How ill the poor chap looks, too ! ” 

The Doctor hurried down the street, with a 
strange malicious smile on his face. Every now 
and then his hand sought his breast-pocket again, 
and hugged a cheque for a hundred pounds which 
lay there. It was his last money in the world ; 
when that was gone, his banking account was ex- 
hausted, and nothing remained but his wife’s pit- 
tance — and nothing more was coming. Yet he had 
devoted that sum to a purpose, and now he stopped 
at Alderman Johnstone’s door, and asked for the 
master of the house, still grimly smiling at the 
thought of what he was preparing for Dale Ban- 
nister, if only Johnstone would help him. John- 
stone had a lease now, he was independent — if only 
he would help him ! 

The Alderman listened to the plan. 

“ It’s a new trade for me,” said he, with a grin. 

“ I find the stock — I have it ready. And — ” He 
held up the cheque. 

The Alderman’s eyes glistened. 

“ They can’t touch me,” he said, “ and I should 
like to ’ave a shy at the Squire. ’Ere’s my ’and 
upon it.” 

A day or two afterwards, Dale heard that the 
sale of Sluggards was increasing by leaps and 
bounds. A single house had taken five hundred 
copies. Amor Patriae had evidently given a fresh 
impetus to the earlier work, in spite of the remark- 
able difference of tone which existed between 
them. 

“It shows,” said Dale complacently, to Philip 
Hume, “ that most people are not such intolerant 
idiots as that fellow Roberts.” 

102 


DEDICATION— AND DESECRATION 


But what it really did show will appear in due 
season. Dale did not know ; nor did Philip, for he 
said, with a fine sneer, 

“ It shows that immorality doesn’t matter if it’s 
combined with sound political principles, old man.” 


103 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS 

Dr. Spink sat in his comfortable dining-room with 
his after-dinner glass of wine before him. The 
snow was falling and the rain beating against the 
windows, but the Doctor had finished his work, and 
feared only that some sudden call would compel 
him to face the fury of the weather again. A few 
months back, he would have greeted any summons, 
however unreasonable the hour, and thought a new 
patient well bought at the price of a spoilt evening. 
But of late the world had smiled upon him, the hill 
which had looked so steep was proving easy to 
climb, and he was already considering whether he 
should not take a partner, to relieve him of the 
more irksome parts of his duty. He pulled his 
neatly-trimmed whisker and caressed his smooth- 
shaven chin, as he reflected how the folly of that 
mad fellow, Roberts, had turned to his advantage. 
No man could say that he had deviated an inch 
from professional propriety, or pressed his advan- 
tage the least unfairly. He had merely persevered 
on the lines he laid down for himself on his first 
arrival. The success, which astonished even him- 
self, had come to him, partly no doubt, because 
merit must make its way, but mainly because his 
rival had wilfully flung away his chances, prefer- 
ring — and to Dr. Spink it seemed a preference almost 
insane — to speak his mind, whatever it might be, 
rather than, like a wise man, hold his tongue and fill 
his pockets. 


101 


THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS 


So Roberts had willed, and hence the Vicarage, 
the Grange, and many other houses now knew his 
footstep no more, and Spink filled his place. As 
he pondered on this, Dr. Spink spared a pang ol 
pity for his beaten competitor, wondering what in 
the world the man meant to live upon. 

The door-bell rang. He heard it with a sigh — 
the half-pleased, half-weary, resigned sigh that a 
man utters when fortune gives him no rest in get- 
ting gain. A moment later he was on his way to 
the surgery, to see a lady who would not send in 
her name or business. 

He recognised Ethel Roberts with surprise, 
when she raised her veil. They had known one 
another to bow to, but he could not imagine what 
brought her to his surgery. 

“ Mrs. Roberts ! Is there anything — ? ” 

44 Oh, Dr. Spink, you must forgive me for com- 
ing. I am in great trouble, and I thought you 
might help me.” 

44 Pray sit down. Is any one ill — your little 
boy?” 

44 No, he’s not ill. It’s — it’s about my husband.” 

44 1 hope Mr. Roberts is not ill ? ” 

44 1 don’t know,” she said nervously. 44 That’s what 
I want to ask you. Have you seen him lately ? ” 

44 No, not very : I passed him in the street the 
other day.” 

44 He’s gone to London, suddenly, I don’t know 
why. Oh, he’s been so strange lately ! ” 

44 1 thought he looked worried. Tell me about 
it,” said Dr. Spink, moved now with genuine pity 
for the pale haggard face before him. 

44 Ever since — but you mustn’t tell I came to you 
— or spoke to anybody, I mean — will you ? ” 

8 105 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


He reassured her, and she continued, 

“ Ever since his quarrel with Mr. Bannister — 
you know about it ? — there is something the mat- 
ter with him. He is moody, and absent-minded, 
and — and hasty, and he settles to nothing. And 
now he is gone off like this.” 

“ Come, Mrs. Roberts, you must compose your- 
self. I suppose he has let these politics worry 
him.” 

“ He seems to care nothing for — for his home or 
the baby, you know ; he does nothing but read, or 
wander up and down the room.” 

“ It sounds as if he wanted a rest and a change. 
You say he has gone away ? ” 

“Yes, but on business, I think.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much, unless he 
calls me in and lets me have a look at him.” 

“ He’ll never do that ! ” she exclaimed, before she 
could stop herself. 

Dr. Spink took no notice of her outburst. 

“ If he comes back no better, send me a line, 
Mrs. Roberts, and we’ll see. And mind you let 
me know if you or the baby want any advice.” 

“You’re very kind, Dr. Spink. I — I’m sorry 
James is so ” 

“ Oh, that’s a symptom. If he gets right, he 
won’t be like that. Your jacket’s too thin for such 
a night. Let me send you home in the brougham.” 

Ethel refused the offer, and started on her 
return, leaving Dr. Spink shaking a thoughtful 
head in the surgery doorway. 

“ It really looks,” he said, “ as if he was a bit 
queer. But what can I do? Poor little woman! ” 

And, not being able to do anything, he went 
back and finished his glass of port. Then, for his 
106 


THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS 


dinner had been postponed till late by business, 
and it was half-past ten, he went to bed. 

Ethel beat her way down the High Street against 
the wind and snow, shutting her eyes in face of the 
blinding shower, and pushing on with all her speed, 
to rejoin her baby, whom she had left alone. 
When, wet and weary, she reached her door, to 
her surprise she saw a man waiting there. For a 
moment, she joyously thought it was her husband, 
but as the man came forward to meet her, she 
recognised Philip Hume. 

“ Out on such a night, Mrs. Roberts ! ” 

She murmured an excuse, and he went on, 

“ Is the Doctor in? I came to look him up.” 

“ No, he’s away in London, Mr. Hume.” 

“ In London ? What for ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ May I come in for a moment? ” asked Philip, 
who had been looking at her closely. 

“ If you like,” she answered in some surprise. 
“ I’m afraid there’s no fire.” 

Philip had followed her in, and seen the grate in 
the sitting-room with no fire lighted. 

“ No fire ? ” he exclaimed. 

“ There is one in my room where baby is,” she 
explained. 

“There ought to be one here too,” said he. 
“ You’re looking ill.” 

“ Oh, I’m not ill, Mr. Hume— I’m not indeed.” 

Philip had come on an errand. There are uses 
even in gossips, and he had had a talk with his 
friend the Mayor that day. 

“ Where are the coals ? ” he asked. 

“ There are some in the scuttle,” she said. 

He looked and found a few small pieces. 

107 


The 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


fire was laid with a few more. Philip lit them and 
threw on all the rest. Then he went to the door, 
and shouted, 

“ Wilson !” 

The small shrewd-faced man who waited on 
Dale Bannister appeared. He was pushing a 
wheelbarrow before him. 

“Wheel it into the passage,” said Philip; “and 
then go. And, mind, not a word ! ” 

Wilson looked insulted. 

“ I don’t talk, sir,” said he. 

Philip returned to the room. 

“Mrs. Roberts,” he said, “listen to me. I am 
a friend of your husband’s. Will you let me help 
you ? ” 

“ Indeed, I need no help.” 

“ I know you are frozen,” he went on ; “and — 
where is the servant? ” 

“ She has left. I — I haven’t got another yet,” 
she faltered. 

“In the passage,” Philip went on, “there is a 
wheelbarrow. It holds coals, food, and drink. It’s 
for you.” 

She started up. 

“ I can’t — indeed I can’t! Jim wouldn’t like it.” 

“ Jim be hanged ! I’ll settle with him. You’re 
to take them. Do you hear ? ” 

She did not answer. He walked up to her and 
put a little canvas bag in her hands. 

“There’s money. No, take it. I shall keep an 
account.” 

“ I really don’t need it.” 

“You do — you know you do. How much 
money has he left you ? ” 

She laid her hand on his arm. 

108 


THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS 


“ He’s not himself, he isn’t indeed, Mr. Hume, or 
he wouldn’t ” 

“No, of course he isn’t. So I do what he 
would, if he were himself. You were going to 
starve.” 

“ He will be angry.” 

“ Then don’t tell him. He’ll never notice. 
Now will he ? ” 

“ He notices nothing now,” she said. 

“ And you’ll take them ? Come, think of what’s- 
his-name — the baby, you know.” 

“ You’re too kind to me.” 

“ Nonsense ! Of course we look after you, Mrs. 
Roberts.” 

“ Mr. Hume, do you think — what do you think 
is the matter with Jim ? ” 

“ Oh, I think he’s an old fool, Mrs. Roberts, and 
you may tell him so from me. No, no, he’ll be all 
right in a week or two. Meanwhile, we’re going 
to make you and Tommy — oh, Johnny, is it? — 
comfortable.” 

He did not leave her till she had consented to ac- 
cept all he offered : then he went back to Littlehill. 

“ I think, Dale,” he said, “ Roberts must be mad. 
He left his wife and child starving.” 

“ Did she take the things ? ” 

“ Yes, I made her.” 

“ That’s all right. What a strange beggar he is ! 
He can’t be quite right in his head.” 

“ Fancy that poor little woman left like that ! ” 

“Horrible!” said Dale with a shudder. “At 
any rate we can prevent that. I’m so glad you 
thought of it.” 

“ Old Hedger told me they had ordered nothing 
for three days.” 


109 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ How the deuce does Hedger know every- 
thing ? ” 

“ It’s lucky he knew this, isn’t it ? ” 

“ By Jove, it is ! Because, you know, Phil, I 
feel a kind of responsibility.” 

“ Nonsense, Dale ! Not really? ” 

“ Oh, you needn’t laugh. Of course I couldn’t 
know the man was a sort of lunatic. One doesn’t 
write for lunatics.” 

“ Perhaps they ought to be considered, being so 
numerous.” 

“ However, it’s all right now. Awfully obliged 
to you, Phil. ” 

“I wonder if he’ll come back.” 

“ Roberts? Why shouldn’t he ? ” 

“ I don’t know, but he’s quite capable of just 
cutting the whole concern.” 

“ I think he’s capable of anything.” 

“ Except appreciating Amor Patrice , eh ? ” 

Dale, having got the Roberts family off his 
mind, drifted to another topic. 

“ I say, Phil, old chap, will you stop playing the 
fool for once, and give me your advice? ” 

“ What about? ” asked Philip, throwing himself 
into an arm-chair. 

“ What,” said Dale, gravely, filling his pipe, “ do 
you think about getting married ? ” 

“ Are you thinking of it ? ” 

“ Discuss marriage in the abstract.” 

“ It is a position of greater responsibility and less 
freedom.” 

“Yes, I know that. But a lot depends on the 
girl, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ I expect so.” 

“ I say, Phil, what do you think of Ripley ? ” 

no 


THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF GENIUS 


“ He seemed a decent enough fellow.” 

“Do you think — I mean, do you call him an 
attractive fellow ? ” 

“Oh, uncommonly!” 

“ Really ? ” 

“Well, why not? ” 

Dale fidgeted in his chair, and relit the pipe, 
which had gone out. He was much too perturbed 
to give to the filling of it the attention that opera- 
tion needs. 

“ I suppose he’ll be rich, and a swell, and all 
that,” he went on. 

“No doubt — but not a Victorian poet.” 

“ Don’t be a fool ! ” 

“ I meant it kindly. Some girls like poets.” 

“ They were awfully kind about Amor Patrice at 
the Grange to-night.” 

“ Oh, you’ve been there ? ” 

“ You know I have. Ripley was there. I don’t 
think I care much about him, Phil.” 

“ Don’t you ? Does he like you ? ” 

Dale laughed, as he rose to go to bed. 

“ Not much, I think,” said he. 

Philip also, being left companionless, got up 
and knocked out his pipe. Then he stood looking 
into the dying embers for a minute or two, and 
thinking, as he warmed his hands with the last of 
the heat. “Poor little Nellie!” he said. After a 
pause, he said it again ; and once again after that. 
But then, as saying it was no use at all, he sighed 
and went to bed. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XIV 


MR. DELANE LIKES THE IDEA 

On a bright morning, when February was in one of 
its brief moods of kindliness, Janet Delane was in 
the garden, and flitting from it into the hothouses 
in search of flowers. It was half-past eleven, and 
Captain Ripley had kept her gossiping long after 
breakfast; that was the worst of idle men staying 
in a house. So she hastened to and fro in a great 
parade of business-like activity, and, as she went, 
she would sing blithely, and stop and smile to her- 
self, and break into singing again, and call merrily 
to her dog, a rotund, slate-coloured bundle of hair 
that waddled after her, and answered, if he were 
given time to get within earshot, to the name of 
Mop. Mop was more sedate than his mistress : 
she only pretended to be on business bent, while 
he had been dragged out to take a serious constitu- 
tional, on account of his growing corpulence, and 
it made him sulky to be called here and beckoned 
there, and told there were rats, and cats, and what 
not — whereas in truth there was no such thing. 
But J anet did not mind his sulkiness ; she smiled, 
and sang, and smiled, for she was thinking — but 
is nothing to be sacred from a prying race ? It is 
no concern of any one's what she was thinking, and 
no doubt she did not desire it to be known, or she 
would have told Captain Ripley in the course of 
that long gossip. 

The Captain stood gazing at her out of the win- 
112 


MR. DELANE LIKES THE IDEA 


dow, with his hands in his pockets and a doleful 
look of bewilderment on his face. He stared out 
into the garden, but he was listening to Mrs. De- 
lane, and wondering uneasily if he were really such 
a dolt as his hostess seemed to consider. 

“You know, Gerard,” said Mrs. Delane in her 
usual tone of suave sovereignty, “ that I am anx- 
ious to help you all I can. I have always looked 
forward to it as an event which would give us all 
pleasure, and I know my husband agrees with me. 
But really we can’t do anything if you don’t help 
yourself.” 

The Captain gnawed his moustache and thrust 
his hands deeper into his pockets. 

“ I can’t make her out,” said he. “I can’t get 
any farther with her.” 

“ It’s not the way to 6 get farther,’ ” answered 
Mrs. Delane, marking the quotation by a delicate 
emphasis, “ with any girl to stand on the other side 
of the room and scowl whenever she talks to an- 
other man.” 

“You mean Bannister? ” 

“ I mean anybody. I don’t care whether it’s Mr. 
Bannister or not. And it’s just as useless to pull 
a long face and look tragic whenever she makes 
fun of you.” 

“ She didn’t use to be like that last time I was 
home.” 

“ My dear boy, what has that got to do with it? 
She was a child then.” 

“ She’s always blowing me up. This morning 
she asked me why I didn’t go to India instead of 
wasting my time doing nothing in London.” 

This was certainly unfeeling conduct on Janet’s 
part. Mrs. Delane sighed. 

1X3 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


44 I don’t know that I quite understand her 
either, Gerard. There’s the Squire calling you. 
He’s ready to ride, I expect.” 

When Janet came in, she found her mother 
alone. 

44 Where’s Gerard? ” she asked. 

44 He’s gone for a ride.” 

44 Is he staying to-night? ” 

44 Yes, two or three days, I think.” 

44 Well, dear, I am glad we amuse him. There 
doesn’t seem much for a man to do here, does 
there? ” 

44 Don’t you like him to be here ? ” 

44 Oh, I don’t mind, only he wastes my time.” 

44 1 begin to think he’s wasting his own too,” re- 
marked Mrs. Delane. 

44 Oh, he’s got nothing else to do with it — or at 
least he does nothing else with it.” 

44 You know what I mean, Janet dear.” 

44 1 suppose I do, but how can I help it? I do 
all I can to show him it’s no use.” 

44 You used to like him very much.” 

44 Oh, so I do now. But that’s quite different.” 

The world goes very crooked. Mrs. Delane 
sighed again. 

44 It would have pleased your father very much.” 

44 I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t care for a man 
of that sort.” 

44 What’s the matter with the man, my dear ? ” 

44 That’s just it, mamma. Nothing — nothing 
bad — and nothing good. Gerard is like heaps of 
men I know.” 

44 1 think you underrate him. His father was 
just the same, and he was very distinguished in the 
House.” 


114 


MR. DELANE LIKES THE IDEA 


Janet’s gesture betrayed but slight veneration 
for the High Court of Parliament, as she answered, 
“ They always say that about dull people.” 

“ Well, if it’s no use, the sooner the poor boy 
knows it the better.” 

“I can’t tell him till he asks me, can I, dear? 
Though I’m sure he might see it for himself. ” 

Mrs. Delane, when she made up her mind to 
sound her daughter’s inclinations, had expected to 
find doubt, indecision, perhaps even an absence of 
any positive inclination towards Captain Ripley. 
She had not been prepared for Janet’s unquestion- 
ing assumption that the thing was not within the 
range of consideration. A marriage so excellent 
from a material point of view, with one who en- 
joyed all the advantages old intimacy and liking 
could give, seemed to claim more than the unhesi- 
tating dismissal with which Janet relegated it to 
the limbo of impossibility, with never a thought for 
all the prospects it held out and never a sigh for the 
wealth and rank it promised. Of course the De- 
lanes needed no alliances to establish their position; 
still, as the Squire had no son, it would have been 
pleasant if his daughter had chosen a husband from 
the leading family in the county. The more Mrs. 
Delane thought, the more convinced she became 
that there must be a reason ; and if there were, it 
could be looked for only in one direction. She 
wondered whether the Squire’s penchant for his 
gifted young neighbour was strong enough to make 
him welcome him as a son-in-law. Frankly, her 
own was not. 

Mr. Delane came into luncheon, but Captain 
Ripley sent a message of excuse. He had ridden 
over to Sir Harry Fulmer’s, and would spend the 
115 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


afternoon there. Mrs. Delane’s reception of the 
news conveyed delicately that such conduct was 
only what might be expected, if one considered 
how Janet treated the poor fellow, but the Squire 
was too busy to appreciate the subtleties of his 
wife’s demeanour. 

Important events were in the way to happen. 
Denshire, like many other counties, had recently 
made up its mind that it behoved it to educate 
itself, and a building had risen in Denbqrough 
which was to serve as an Institute of technical ed- 
ucation, a school of agriculture, a centre of learning, 
a home of instructive recreation, a haven for the 
peripatetic lecturer, and several things besides. 
Lord Cransford had consented to open this temple 
of the arts, which was now near completion, and an 
inauguration by him would have been suitable and 
proper. But the Squire had something far better 
to announce. The Lord-Lieutenant was, next 
month, to be honoured by a visit from a Royal 
Duke, and the Royal Duke had graciously con- 
sented to come over and open the Institute. It 
would be an occasion the like of which Denborough 
had seldom seen, and Lord Cransford and Mr. De- 
lane might well be pardoned the deputy-providen- 
tial air with which they went about for the few 
days next following on the successful completion 
of this delicate negotiation. 

“Now,” said the Squire, when he had detailed 
the Prince’s waverings and vacillations, his he- 
w r oulds and he-would-nots, and the culmination of 
his gracious assent, “ I have a great idea, and I 
want you to help me, Jan.” 

“How can I help?” asked Janet, who was al- 
ready in a flutter of loyalty. 

116 


MR. DELANE LIKES THE IDEA 


“When the Duke comes, I want him to have a 
splendid reception.” 

“ I’m sure he will, my dear,” said Mrs. Delane ; 
“ at least I hope that we are loyal.” 

“We want,” continued the Squire, “to show 
him all our resources.” 

“ W ell, papa, that won’t take him very long. 
There’s the old Mote Hall, and the Roman pave- 
ment and — Oh, but will he come here, papa — to 
the Grange ? ” 

“ I hope he will take luncheon here.” 

“ How delightful ! ” exclaimed Janet joyfully. 

“ Goodness ! ” said Mrs. Delane anxiously. 

“ But, Jan, I want to show him our poet! ” 

“ Papa ! Mr. Bannister ! ” 

“Yes. I want Bannister to write a poem of 
welcome.” 

“ My dear,” remarked Mrs. Delane, “ Mr. Bannis- 
ter doesn’t like princes ; ” and she smiled satirically. 

“What do you say, Jan?” asked the Squire, 
smiling in his turn. 

“ Oh yes, do ask him, papa. I wish he would.” 

“ Well, will you ask him to ? ” 

“Really, George, you are the person to sug- 
gest it.” 

“ Yes, Mary. But if I fail ? Now, Jan ! ” 

“ Oh don’t be foolish papa. It’s not likely ” 

“ Never mind. Will you ? ” 

But Janet had, it seemed, finished her meal; at 
least she had left the room. Mrs. Delane looked 
vexed. The Squire laughed, for he was a man who 
enjoyed his little joke. 

“Poor Jan!” he said. “It’s a shame to chaff 
her on her conquests.” 

Mrs. Delane’s fears had been confirmed by her 
117 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


daughters reception of the raillery. She would 
have answered in the same tone, and accepted the 
challenge, if the banter had not hit the mark. 

“ It’s a pity,” said Mrs. Delane, “ to encourage 
her to think so much about this young Bannister.” 

“ Eh ? ” said the Squire, looking up from his plate. 

“ She thinks quite enough about him already, 
and hears enough too.” 

“Well, I suppose he’s something out of the 
common run, in Denshire at all events, and so he 
interests her.” 

“ She’ll have nothing to say to Gerard Ripley.” 

“ What ? Has he asked her? ” 

“ No, but I found out from her. He’s quite in- 
different to her.” 

“I’m sorry for that, but there’s time yet. I 
don’t give up hope.” 

“ Do you think you help your wishes by asking 
her to use her influence to make Dale Bannister 
write poems ? ” 

The Squire laid down his napkin and looked at 
his wife. 

“ Oh ! ” he said, after a pause. 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Delane. “ Are you surprised?” 

“ Yes, I am rather.” 

He got up and walked about the room, jangling 
the money in his pocket. 

“We know nothing about young Bannister,” he 
said. 

“ Except that he’s the son of a Dissenting min- 
ister and has lived with very queer people.” 

The Squire frowned; but presently his face 
cleared. “ I daresay we’re troubling ourselves 
quite unnecessarily. I haven’t noticed anything.” 

“ I daresay not, George,” said Mrs. Delane. 

118 


MR DELANE LIKES THE IDEA 


“ Come, Mary, you know it’s a weakness of yours 
to find out people’s love-affairs before they do 
themselves.” 

“Very well, George, ” answered she in a resigned 
tone. “ I have told you, and you will act as you 
think best. Only, if you wouldn’t like him for a 
son-in-law ” 

“Well, my dear, you do go ahead.” 

“ Try to put him out of Janet’s head, not in it; ” 
and Mrs. Delane swept out of the room. 

The Squire went to his study, thinking as he 
went. He would have liked the Ripley connec- 
tion. Lord Cransford was an old friend, and the 
match would have been unimpeachable. Still — 
The Squire could not quite analyse his feelings, 
but he did feel that the idea of Dale Bannister was 
not altogether unattractive. By birth, of course, 
he was a nobody, and he had done and said, or 
at least said he had done, or would like to do, — 
for the Squire on reflection softened down his 
condemnation, — wild things; but he was a dis- 
tinguished man, a man of brains, a force in the 
country. One must move with the times. Now- 
a-days brains opened every front door, and genius 
was a passport everywhere. He was not sure that 
he disliked the idea. Women were such sticklers 
for old notions. Now, he had never been a — a 
stick-in-the-mud Tory. If Dale went on improv- 
ing as he was doing, the Squire would think twice 
before he refused him. But there ! very likely it 
was only Mary’s match-making instincts making a 
mountain out of a molehill. 

“ I shall keep at Jan about that poem,” he ended 
by saying. “ It would be a fine facer for the 
Radicals.” 


119 


CHAPTER XV 


HOW IT SEEMED TO THE DOCTOR 

James Roberts made to himself some excuse of 
business for his sudden expedition to London, but 
in reality he was moved to go by the desire for 
sympathy. There are times and moods when a 
man will do many strange things, if thereby he 
may gain the comfort of an approving voice. It was 
not so much his straitened means and impoverished 
household, with the silent suppressed reproach of 
his wife’s sad face, which made Denborough for 
the time uninhabitable to the Doctor. The self- 
ishness engendered by his absorption in outside 
affairs armed him against these ; he was more 
oppressed, and finally overcome and routed to 
flight, by the universal, unbroken, and unhesitating 
condemnation and contempt that he met with. 
The severe banned him as wicked, the charitable 
dubbed him crazy; even Johnstone, whom he had 
bought, gave him no sympathy. He could not 
share his savage sneers, or his bitter mirth, or his 
passionate indignation, with a man to whom the 
whole affair was a matter of business or of personal 
grudge. He felt that he must escape for a time, 
and seek society in which he could unbosom him- 
self and speak from his heart without stirring hor- 
ror or ridicule. Arthur Angell at least, who, in 
regard to Dale and Dale’s views, had always been 
a better royalist than the King, would share his 
anger and appreciate his meditated revenge. The 
120 


HOW IT SEEMED TO THE DOCTOR 


lesson he meant to give the backslider was so ap- 
propriate and of such grim humour that Arthur 
must be delighted with it. 

On Dale’s departure, Arthur Angell had moved 
into the little flat at the top of the tall building in 
Chelsea, and there he cultivated the Muses with a 
devotion which was its own ample reward. Though 
to be passing rich on forty pounds a year is, with 
the best will, impossible in London, as it is to-day, 
yet to be passing happy on one hundred and fifty 
is not beyond the range of youth and enthusiasm, 
when the future still provides a gorgeous setting 
and background, wherein the sordid details of the 
present are merged and lose their prominence, and 
all trials are but landmarks by which the hopeful 
grub counts his nearer approach to butterflydom. 
The little room, the humble chop, the occasional 
pit, the constant tobacco, the unending talks with 
fellows like-minded and like- pursed, — all these had 
the beauty of literary tradition, and if not a guar- 
antee, seemed at least a condition of future fame. 
So Arthur often said to Mrs. Hodge, who lived in 
the same block, a couple of floors lower down ; and 
Mrs. Hodge heartily agreed as she instanced, in 
confirmation of the doctrine, how the late Mr. 
Hodge had once played the King at two pound 
ten, consule Pratt , and had lived to manage his 
own theatre. This was to compare small things 
with great, felt Arthur, but the truth is true in 
whatever sphere it works. 

Into his happy life there broke suddenly the tem- 
pestuous form of the Denborough Doctor. He 
arrived with but a pound or two in his pocket, with 
wild ideas of employment on ultra-Radical news- 
papers ; above all, with the full load of his rage 
9 121 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


against Dale Bannister, the traitor. He strode up 
and down the little room, tugging his beard and 
fiercely denouncing the renegade, while Arthur 
looked at his troubled eyes and knitted brows, and 
wondered if his mind were not unhinged. Who 
could talk like that about Dale, if he were sane ? 
Arthur would have chaffed his friend, laughed at 
him, ridiculed him, perhaps slyly hinted at the illicit 
charms of rank and wealth, for which the poet’s old 
mistress mourned deserted. But to speak in hate 
and rancour ! And what was he plotting ? 

But when he heard the plot, his face cleared, and 
he laughed. 

“ I think you’re hard on Dale,” he said ; “ but, 
after all, it will be a good joke.” 

“ Johnstone will do it,” exclaimed the Doctor, 
pausing in his stride. “ His shop window will be 
full of them. He’ll have sandwich-men all over 
the place. Bannister won’t be able to go out with- 
out being met by his own words — the words he 
denies. I’ll cram them down his throat.” 

Arthur laughed again. 

“ It will be awkward when he’s walking with old 
Delane.” 

“ Ay, and with that girl who’s got hold of him. 
He sha’n’t forget what he wrote — nor shall a soul 
in Denborough either. I’ll make his treachery 
plain, if I spend my last farthing.” 

“ When are you going back ? ” 

“ In a week. It will all be ready in a week. 
He’ll know who did it. Curse him ! ” 

“ My dear Doctor, aren’t you a little ” 

“Are you like that too ? ” burst out Roberts. 
“ Have none of you any sincerity ? Is it sham with 
all of you ? You laugh as if it were a joke.” 

122 


HOW IT SEEMED TO THE DOCTOR 


“ I can’t be angry with old Dale. I expect he’ll 
only laugh himself, you know. It will be good 
fun.” 

Roberts looked at him in hopeless wrath. It 
seemed to him that these men, who wrote the words 
and proclaimed the truths which had turned his 
life and reformed his soul, were themselves but 
playing with what they taught. Were they only 
actors — or amusing themselves ? 

“You are as bad as he is,” he said angrily, and 
stalked out of the room. 

Arthur, puzzled with his unmanageable guest, 
went down, as he often did, to his neighbours, and 
laid the whole case before Mrs. Hodge and Nellie 
Fane. He found them both in, Nellie having just 
returned from an afternoon concert where she had 
been singing. 

“ I believe the fellow’s half mad, you know,” 
said Arthur. 

“ If he isn’t, he ought to be ashamed of himself,” 
said Mrs. Hodge, and she launched on a descrip- 
tion of Mrs. Roberts’ pitiable state. 

“Well, I don’t think he’s got more than five 
pounds in the world,” responded Arthur. “ And 
he’s got no chance of making any money. Nobody 
dares publish what he wants to write.” 

“ He used to be pleasant at Littlehill,” Nellie re- 
marked, “when we were first there.” 

“ Yes, wasn’t he ? But he’s gone quite wild over 
Dale. Do you know what his next move is ? ” 
And Arthur disclosed the Johnstone conspiracy. 

“ It will be rather sport, won’t it ? ” he asked. 
“ Poor old Dale ! ” 

But no; Miss Fane did not see the “sport.” 
She was indignant; she thought that such a trick 

123 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


was mean, malicious, and odious in the highest de- 
gree, and she was surprised that Arthur Angell 
could be amused at it. 

“Women never see a joke,” said Arthur huffily. 

“ Where’s the joke in making Dale unhappy 
and — and absurd ? And you call yourself his 
friend ! ” 

“ It’s only a joke. Old Dale does deserve a dig, 
you know.” 

“ And pray why ? You choose your friends, why 
mayn’t he choose his ? I daresay you would be 
glad enough to know that sort of people if you 
could.” 

“ Oh, come, Nellie! I’m not like that. Besides, 
it’s not the people; it’s what he’s written.” 

“ I’ve read what he’s written. It’s beautiful. 
No, I call the whole thing horrid, and just like Dr. 
Roberts.” 

“ I suppose you think, just like me too ? ” 

“ If you don’t write and warn Dale, I shall.” 

“ I say, you mustn’t do that. I told you in con- 
fidence. Roberts will be furious.” 

“ What do I care for Dr. Roberts’ fury ? I shall 
write at once ; ” and she sat down at the table. 

Arthur glanced in despair at Mrs. Hodge, but 
that discreet lady was entirely hidden in the even- 
ing paper. 

“ Well, I’ll never tell you anything again, Nellie,” 
he said. 

“ You’ll never have the chance, unless you behave 
something like a gentleman,” retorted Nellie. 

Arthur banged the door as he went out, exclaim- 
ing, 

“ Damn Roberts ! What does he want to make 
a row for ? ” 


124 


HOW IT SEEMED TO THE DOCTOR 


Meanwhile, the Doctor, who was angry enough 
with Arthur Angell to have rejoiced had he known 
that he had embroiled him in a quarter where Ar- 
thur was growing very anxious to stand well, was 
pacing the streets, nursing his resentment. His 
head ached, and fragments of what he had read, 
and half-forgotten conversations, mingling in his 
whirling brain, fretted and bewildered him. He 
could think of nothing but his wrongs and his re- 
venge, returning always to hug himself on his own 
earnestness, and angrily to sneer at the weakness 
and treachery of his friends. Whatever it cost him 
or his, the world should see that there was one man 
ready to sacrifice himself for truth and right — and 
punish “ that hound Dale Bannister.” 

As he walked, he bought the special edition of 
the paper, and, in hastily glancing at it, his eye was 
caught by the announcement that His Royal 
Highness the Duke of Mercia was to visit Lord 
Cransford, and would open the Institute at Market 
Denborough. The paragraph went on to describe 
the preparations being made to give the Prince a 
loyal reception, and ended by saying that it was 
hoped that the eminent poet, Mr. Dale Bannister, 
who was resident at Denborough, would consent to 
write a few lines of welcome to the illustrious vis- 
itor. The writer added a word or two of good- 
natured banter about Mr. Bannister’s appearance 
in a new character, and the well-known effect which 
the proximity of royalty was apt to have on English 
republicanism. “ Who knows,” he concluded, 
“that Mr. Bannister may not figure as Sir Dale 
before long ? ” 

The Doctor read the paragraph twice, the flush 
of anger reddening his pale face. Then he crumpled 
125 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


up the paper and flung it from him, resuming his 
hasty, restless walk. He could imagine the sicken- 
ing scene, the rampant adulation, the blatant snob- 
bishness. And, in the midst, a dishonoured par- 
ticipator, the man who had been his leader, his 
liberator, the apostle of all he loved and lived by. 
Had the man been a hypocrite from the first ? 
Impossible ! No hypocrite could have written those 
burning lines which leapt to his memory and his 
lips. Or was he merely a weak fool? That could 
not be either. It was a barter, a deliberate barter 
of truth and honour against profit — as sordid a 
transaction as could be. He wanted a position in 
society, money, a rich wife, petting from great 
people — perhaps even, as that scribbler said, a rib- 
bon to stick in his coat or a handle to fasten to his 
name. How could he ? how could he ? And the 
Doctor passed his hand across his hot, throbbing 
brow in the bewilderment of wrath. 

For an hour or more he ranged the streets aim- 
lessly, a prey to his unreasoning fury. For this 
man’s sake he had ruined himself — led on by this 
man’s words, he had defied the world — his world. 
At all hazards he had joined the daring band. Now 
he was forsaken, abandoned, flung aside. He and 
his like had served their turn. On their backs 
Dale Bannister had mounted. But now he had 
done with them, and their lot was repudiation and 
disdain. Roberts could not find words for his scorn 
and contempt. His head racked him more and 
more. Connected thought seemed to become im- 
possible ; he could do nothing but repeat again and 
again, “ The traitor ! The traitor ! ” 

At last he turned home to his humble lodgings. 
The short hush of very early morning had fallen 
126 


HOW IT SEEMED TO THE DOCTOR 

on the streets; he met no one, and the moon 
shone placidly down on the solitary figure of the 
maddened man, wrestling with his unconquerable 
rage. He could not stem it; yielding to its im- 
pulse, with quivering voice and face working with 
passion, he stretched his clenched fist to the sky 

onn priprf 

“ By God, he shall pay for it ! ” 


127 


CHAPTER XVI 


“NO MORE KINGS” 

After her father’s report and the departure of 
Nellie Fane, Miss Tora Smith had been pleased to 
reconsider her judgment of Dale Bannister, and to 
modify it to some extent. The poems and the 
suspicion, taken in conjunction, each casting a lurid 
light on the other, had been very bad indeed ; but 
when Tora’s mind was disabused of the suspicion, 
she found it in her heart to pardon the poems. 
Although she treated Sir Harry Fulmer with scant 
ceremony, she had no small respect for his opinion, 
and when he and the Colonel coincided in the de- 
cision that Dale need not be ostracised, she did not 
persist against them. She was led to be more 
compliant by the fact that she was organising an 
important Liberal gathering, and had conceived 
the ambition of inducing Dale to take part in the 
proceedings. 

“Fancy, if he would write us a song!” she 
said, — “a song which we could sing in chorus. 
Wouldn’t it be splendid ? ” 

“ What would the Squire say ? ” asked Sir Harry. 

Tora smiled mischievously. 

“ Are you,” she demanded, “ going to stand by 
and see him captured by the Grange ? ” 

“ He ought to be with us, oughtn’t he ? ” said 
Sir Harry. 

“ Of course. And if our leader had an ounce of 
zeal ” 


128 


“NO MORE KINGS 


“ I’ll write to him to-day,” said Sir Harry. 

“Yes; and mind you persuade him. I shall be 
so amused to see what Jan Delane says, if he 
writes us a song.” 

“ He won’t do it.” 

“ He won’t, if you go in that despairing mood. 
Now write at once. Write as if you expected it.” 

The outcome of this conversation, together with 
the idea which had struck the Squire, was, of 
course, that Dale received, almost by the same 
post, an urgent request for a militant Radical ditty, 
and a delicate, but very flattering, suggestion that 
it would be most agreeable to His Royal Highness 
— indeed he had hinted as much in response to 
Lord Cransford’s question — to find the loyalty of 
Denborough as it were crystallised in one of Mr. 
Bannister’s undying productions. F or the first time 
in his life, Dale felt a grudge against the Muses for 
their endowment. Could not these people let him 
alone ? He did not desire to put himself forward : 
he only asked to be let alone. It was almost as 
repugnant to him — at least, he thought it would 
be — to take part in Lord Cransford’s pageant, as it 
certainly would be to hear the Radicals of Den- 
borough screeching out his verses. He was a man of 
letters, not a politician, and he thought both requests 
very uncalled for. It might be that the Grange 
folks had some claim on him, but his acquaintance 
with Sir Harry Fulmer was of the slightest; and 
what did the man mean by talking of his “ well- 
known views ” ? He was as bad as the Doctor him- 
self. Presently Philip Hume came in, and Dale 
disclosed his perplexities. 

“ I want to please people,” he said, “but this is 
rather strong.” 


129 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Write both,” suggested Philip. 

“ That will enrage both of them.” 

“ Then write neither.” 

“ Really, Phil, you might show some interest in 
the matter.” 

“ I am preoccupied. Have you been in the 
town to-day, Dale ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Then you haven’t seen Johnstone’s window ? ” 

“Johnstone’s window? What does Johnstone 
want with a window ? ” 

“ Put on your hat and come and see. Yes, come 
along. It concerns you.” 

They walked down together in the gathering 
dusk of the afternoon, and when they came near 
Johnstone’s, they saw his window lighted with a 
blaze of gas, and a little knot of curious people 
standing outside. The window was full of Dale’s 
books, and the rows of green volumes were sur- 
mounted by a large placard — “ Dale Bannister, the 
poet of Denborough — Works on Sale Here. Ask 
for The Clarion , The Arch-Apostates , Blood for 
Blood and outside, a file of men carried boards, 
headed, “ The Rights of the People. Read Dale 
Bannister! No more Kings! No more Priests! 
Read Dale Bannister ! ” 

A curse broke from Dale. Philip smiled grimly. 

“ Who’s done this? ” Dale asked. 

Philip pointed to a solitary figure which stood 
on the opposite side of the road, looking on at the 
spectacle. It was James Roberts, and he smiled 
grimly in his turn when he saw the poet and his 
friend. 

“ He put Johnstone up to it,” said Philip. 
“ Johnstone told me so.” 


130 


“NO MORE KINGS 


Dale was aflame. He strode quickly across the 
road to where the Doctor stood, and said to him 
hotly, 

“ This is your work, is it ? ” 

The Doctor was jaunty and cool in manner. 

“ No, your works,” he answered, with a foolish, 
exasperating snigger. “ Aren’t you pleased to see 
what notice they are attracting ? I was afraid they 
were being forgotten in Denborough.” 

“ God only knows,” said Dale angrily, “ why you 
take pleasure in annoying me ; but I have borne 
enough of your insolence.” 

“ Is it insolent to spread the sale of your 
books?” 

“ You will make your jackal take those books 
down and stop his infernal posters, or I’ll thrash 
you within an inch of your life.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Roberts, and his hand stole towards 
his breast-pocket. 

“ What do you say ? ” 

“ I say that if I can make a wretched snob like 
you unhappy, it’s money well spent, and I’ll see 
you damned before I take the books down.” 

Dale grasped his walking- cane and took a step 
forward. The Doctor stood waiting for him, smil- 
ing and keeping his hand in his pocket. 

“ Jim ! ” 

The Doctor turned and saw his wife at his side. 
Dale fell back, lifting his hat, at the sight of the 
pale distressed face and the clasped hands. 

“ Do come home, dear ! ” she said, with an ap- 
pealing glance. 

Philip took Dale’s arm. 

“ Come,” he said, “ let’s reason with Johnstone.” 

Dale allowed himself to be led away, not know- 
131 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


ing that death had stared him in the face ; for it 
was a loaded revolver that Roberts let fall back 
into the recesses of his pocket, when his wife’s 
touch recalled for a moment his saner sense. 

The reasoning with Johnstone was not a success. 
Dale tried threats, abuse, and entreaties, all in vain. 
At last he condescended to bribery, and offered 
Johnstone twice the sum, whatever it might be, 
which he had received. He felt his degradation, 
but the annoyance was intolerable. 

The Alderman’s attitude, on receiving this offer, 
was not without pathos. He lamented in himself 
an obstinate rectitude, which he declared had often 
stood in his way in business affairs. His political 
convictions, engaged as they were in the matter, he 
would have sacrificed, if the favour thereby accorded 
to Mr. Bannister were so great as to be measured 
by two hundred pounds; but he had passed his 
word ; and he concluded by beseeching Dale not to 
tempt him above that which he was able. 

“ Take it away, take it away, sir,” he said, when 
Dale held a pocket-book before his longing eyes. 
“ It ain’t right, sir, it ain’t indeed — and me a family 
man.” 

Dale began to feel the guilt of the Tempter, 
and fell back on an appeal to the Alderman’s bet- 
ter feelings. This line of argument elicited only a 
smile. 

“ If I won’t do it for two hundred sovereigns, 
does it stand to reason, sir, as I should do it to 
obleege ? ” 

Dale left him, after a plain statement of the 
estimation in which he held him, and went home, 
yielding only after a struggle to Philip’s representa- 
tion that any attempt to bribe the sandwich-men 
132 


“NO MORE KINGS ” 

must result in his own greater humiliation and dis- 
comfiture. 

Angry as Dale was, he determined not to allow 
this incident to turn him from the course he had 
marked out for himself. It confirmed his deter- 
mination to have nothing to do with Sir Harry’s 
Radical song, but it did not make him any the 
more inclined to appear as a eulogist of royalty. 
Neutrality in all political matters was his chosen 
course, and it appeared to him to be incomparably 
the wisest under all the circumstances. This view 
he expressed to the family at the Grange, having 
walked over for that purpose. He expected to 
meet with some opposition, but to his surprise the 
Squire heartily acquiesced. 

“ After this scandalous business,” he said, “ you 
must cut the Radicals altogether. Of course, 
Harry Fulmer will object to it as much as we do, 
but he must be responsible for his followers. And 
I think you’re quite right to let us alone too. 
Why should you literary men bother with poli- 
tics ? ” 

Dale was delighted at this opinion, and at Janet’s 
concurrence with it. 

“ Then I daresay you will be so kind as to ex- 
press my feelings to Lord Cransford ; if he thinks 
fit, he can let the Duke know them.” 

The Squire’s face expressed surprise, and his 
daughter’s reflected it. 

“ But, my de$r fellow,” said Mr. Delane, “ what 
has Cransford’s suggestion to do with politics ? The 
throne is above politics.” 

“ Surely, Mr. Bannister,” added Janet, “ we are 
all loyal, whatever our politics? I’m sure Sir 
Harry himself is as loyal as papa.” 

133 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Come, Bannister, you press your scruples too 
far. There are no politics in this.” 

Dale was staggered, but not convinced. 

44 I’d rather not put myself forward at all,” he 
said. 

The Squire assumed an air of apologetic friend- 
liness. 

44 1 know you’ll excuse me, Bannister. I’m twice 
your age or more, and I — well — I haven’t been so 
lucky as you in escaping the world of etiquette. 
But, my dear fellow, when the Duke sends a mes- 
sage, — it really comes to that, — it’s a strongish 
thing to say you won’t do it. Oh, of course, you 
can if you like — there’s no beheading now-a-days ; 
but it’s not very usual.” 

44 1 wish Lord Cransford had never mentioned 
me to the Duke at all.” 

44 Perhaps it would have been wiser,” the Squire 
conceded candidly, 44 but Cransford is so proud of 
anything that brings kudos to the county, and he 
could no more leave you out than he could the In- 
stitute itself. Well, we mustn’t force you. Think 
it over, think it over. I must be off. No, don’t 
you go. Stay and have tea with the ladies ; ” and 
the Squire, who, as has been previously mentioned, 
was no fool, left his daughter to entertain his 
guest. 

Janet was working at a piece of embroidery, and 
she went on working in silence for a minute or 
two. Then she looked up and said, 

44 Tora Smith was here this morning. She’ll be 
very disappointed at your refusal to write for her 
meeting.” 

44 Miss Smith has no claim on me,” said Dale 
stiffly. He had not forgotten Tora’s injurious sus- 
134 


NO MORE KINGS 


picions. “ Besides, one doesn’t do such things sim- 
ply for the asking — not even if it’s a lady who 
asks.” 

“You know, I don’t think anybody ought to 
ask — no, not princes ; and I hope you won’t do 
what Lord Cransford wants merely because you’re 
asked.” 

“ Your father says I ought.” 

“ Papa wants you to do it very much.” 

“ And I should like to do what he wants.” 

“ I should like you to do what he wants, but not 
because he wants it,” said Janet. 

Dale turned round to her and said abruptly, 

“ I’ll do it, if you want me to.” 

Now this was flattering, and Janet could not 
deny that it gave her pleasure ; but she clung to 
her principles. 

“ I don’t want it — in that sense,” she answered. 
“ I should be glad if it seemed to you a right thing 
to do; but I should be sorry if you did it, unless 
it did.” 

“ You will not let me do it for you ? ” 

“ No,” she answered, smiling. 

“ You have no pleasure in obedience ? ” 

“ Oh, well, only in willing obedience,” said she, 
with a smile. 

“ It would be very willing — even eager.” 

“ The motive would not be right. But how ab- 
surd ! I believe ” 

“ Well, what?” 

“ That you mean to do it, and are trying to kill 
two birds with one stone.” 

“ You don’t really think that, Miss Delane? ” 

“ No, of course not. Only you were becoming 
so serious.” 


135 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ May I not be serious ? ” 

“ It isn’t serious to offer to take important steps, 
because it would please a girl.” 

“ Aren’t you rather contradicting yourself? You 
called that becoming serious just now.” 

“ If I am, it is a privilege we all have.” 

“Girls, you mean? Well, you refuse to help 
me?” 

“ Entirely.” 

“ Even to counteract Miss Smith’s illicit influ- 
ence ? ” 

“ I shall trust to your own sense of propriety.” 

Dale walked home, grievously puzzled. A small 
matter may raise a great issue, and he felt, perhaps 
without full reason, that he was at the parting of 
the ways. “No more Kings ! No more Priests ! ” 
Or, “An Ode to H.R.H. the Duke of Mercia on 
his visit to Denborough ” ! Dale ruefully admitted 
that there would be ground for a charge of incon- 
sistency. Some would talk of conversion, some of 
tergiversation : he could not make up his mind 
which accusation would be the more odious. There 
was clearly nothing for it but absolute neutrality ; 
he must refuse both requests. Janet would under- 
stand why : of course she would, she must ; and 
even if she did not, what was that to him ? The 
throne above politics ! — that must be a mere soph- 
ism ; there could not be anything in that. No 
doubt this young Prince was not morally responsi- 
ble for the evils, but he personified the system, and 
Dale could not bow the knee before him. If it had 
been possible — and as he went, he began idly to 
frame words for an ode of welcome. An idea or 
two, a very happy turn, came into his head ; he 
knew exactly the tone to take, just how far to go, 
136 


“NO MORE KINGS 


just the mean that reconciles deference to inde- 
pendence. He had the whole thing mapped out, 
before he recalled to himself the thought that he 
was not going to write it at all, and as he entered 
his own garden, he sighed at the necessary relin- 
quishing of a stately couplet. There was no doubt 
that work of that class opened a new field, a hith- 
erto virgin soil, to his genius. It was a great 
pity. 

In the garden, to his surprise, he came on Arthur 
Angell. “ What brings you here, Arthur ? ” he 
said. “ Delighted to see you, though.” 

Arthur explained that he had run down at Nellie 
Fanes bidding. Nellie had written her letter of 
warning about the Doctor’s conspiracy, but, having 
thus relieved her mind, had straightway forgotten 
all about her letter, and it had lain unposted in her 
pocket for a week. Then she found it, and sent 
Arthur off in haste to stop the mischief. 

“ It’s awfully kind of Nellie,” said Dale ; “ but I 
don’t suppose it would have been of any use, and 
anyhow, it’s too late now.” 

“ Yes, so Phil told me.” 

“ A dirty trick, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Well, I suppose it’s rather rough on you,” said 
Arthur, struggling between principles and friend- 
ship, and entirely suppressing his own privity to the 
said dirty trick. 

“ You’ll stay?” 

“ I’ve got no clothes.” 

“ Oh, Wilson will see to that. Come in.” 

Philip met them at the door. 

“ I’ve a message for you, Dale,” he said. “ The 
Mayor has been here.” 

“ And what may the Mayor want? ” 

10 137 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ The Mayor came as an ambassador. He bore 
a resolution from the Town Council, a unanimous 
resolution (absent e Johnstone owing to pressure in 
the bookselling trade), begging you to accede to the 
Lord-Lieutenant’s request and write a poem for the 
Duke.” 

“ Hang the Town Council ! ” exclaimed Dale. 
“ I wonder why nobody will let me alone ! ” 

Then he remembered that Miss Delane had been 
almost ostentatious in her determination to let him 
alone. If he wrote, they could not say that he had 
written to please her. But he was not going to 
write. True, it would have been a good revenge 
on the Doctor, and it would have pleased — 

“ Shall you do the ode ? ” asked Philip Hume. 

“ Certainly not,” answered Dale in a resolute 
tone. 


138 


CHAPTER XVII 


DALE TRIES HIS HAND AT AN ODE 

Dale’s preoccupations with his new friends had 
thrown on Philip Hume the necessity of seeking 
society for himself, if he did not wish to spend 
many solitary evenings at Littlehill. The resources 
of Denborough were not very great, and his dissi- 
pation generally took the form of a quiet dinner, 
followed by a rubber of whist, at Mount Pleasant. 
The Colonel and he suited one another, and, even if 
Philip had been less congenial in temper, the Colonel 
was often too hard put to it for a fourth player, 
to be nice in scrutinising the attractions of any one 
who could be trusted to answer a call and appre- 
ciate the strategy of a long suit. Even with Philip’s 
help the rubber was not a brilliant one : for Tora 
only played out of filial duty, and Sir Harry came 
in to join, because it was better to be with Tora 
over a whist-table than not to be with her at all. 
That he thought so witnessed the intensity of his 
devotion, for to play whist seemed to Sir Harry to 
be going out of one’s way to seek trouble and per- 
plexity of mind. 

On the evening of Arthur Angell’s arrival, the 
usual party had dined together and set to work. 
Things were not going well. At dinner they had 
discussed the royal visit, and the Colonel had been 
disgusted to find that his daughter, unmindful of 
her, or rather his, principles, was eager to see and, 
if it might be, to speak with “ this young whipper- 
139 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


snapper of a Prince. ” The Colonel could not un- 
derstand such a state of feeling, but Tora was firm. 
All the county would be there in new frocks : she 
had ordered a new frock, of which she expected 
great things, and she meant to be there in it: it 
would not do, she added, for the Duke to think 
that the Radicals had no pretty girls on their side. 
The Colonel impatiently turned to Sir Harry ; but 
Sir Harry agreed with Tora, and even Philip 
Hume announced his intention of walking down 
High Street to see, not the Prince of course, but 
the people and the humours of the day. 

“ Really, Colonel,” he said, “ I cannot miss the 
Mayor.” 

“ Are we going to have a rubber or not ? ” asked 
the Colonel, with an air of patient weariness. 

They sat down, Sir Harry being his host’s part- 
ner. Now, Sir Harry was, and felt himself to be, 
in high favour, owing to his sound views on the 
question of the day, and he was thinking of any- 
thing in the world rather than the fall of the cards. 
Consequently, his play was marked by somewhat 
more than its ordinary atrociousness, and the Col- 
onel grew redder and redder as every scheme he 
cherished was nipped in the bud by his partner’s 
blunders. Tora and Philip held all the cards, and 
their good fortune covered Tora’s deficiency in 
skill, and made Philip’s sound game seem a brill- 
iant one. 

At last the Colonel could bear it no longer. 
He broke up the party, and challenged Philip to a 
game of piquet. 

“ At any rate one hasn’t a partner at piquet,” he 
said. 

Sir Harry smiled, and followed Tora to the 
140 


DALE TRIES HIS HAND AT AN ODE 


drawing-room. With such rewards for bad play, 
who would play well ? He sat down by her and 
watched her making spills. Presently he began 
to make spills too. Tora looked at him. Sir 
Harry made a very bad spill indeed, and held it up 
with a sigh. 

“ That’s the sort of thing,” he said, “ I have to 
light my pipe with at home ! ” 

“As you’ve been very good to-night,” answered 
Tora, “ I’ll give you some of mine to take with 
you. Let me show you how to do them for your- 
self.” 

Then ensued trivialities which bear happening 
better than they do recording, glances, and touches, 
and affectations of stupidity on one side and im- 
patience on the other, till love’s ushers, their part 
fulfilled, stand by to let their master speak, and the 
hidden seriousness, which made the trifles not tri- 
fling, leaps to sudden light. Before her lover’s eager 
rush of words, his glorifying of her, his self-depre- 
ciation, Tora was defenceless, her raillery was gone, 
and she murmured nothing but — 

“ You’re not stupid — you’re not dull. Oh, how 
can you ! ” 

Before he set out for home, Philip Hume was 
privileged to hear the fortunate issue, and to won- 
der how much happiness two faces can manage to 
proclaim. Kindly as the little family party took 
him into their confidence, he hastened away, know- 
ing that he had no place there. Such joys were 
not for him, he thought, as he walked slowly from 
the door, remembering how once he had challenged 
impossibility, and laid his love at a girl’s feet ; and 
she too had for a moment forgotten impossibility : 
and they were very happy — for a moment ; then 
141 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


they recollected — or had it recollected for them — 
that they were victims of civilisation. And hence 
an end. Philip recalled this incident as he walked ; 
he had not thought of it for a long time, but the 
air of Denborough seemed so full of love and love- 
making, that he spared a sigh or two for himself. 
Well-born and well-educated, he wrung from the 
world, by painful labour, some three or four hun- 
dred pounds a year. It was enough if he had not 
been well-born or well-educated; but his advan- 
tages turned to disabilities, and he saw youth going 
or gone, and the home and the love which had 
been so confidently assumed as his lot, that even 
as a boy he had joked and been joked about 
them, faded aw^ay from his picture of the future, 
and he was only kept from a sigh of self-pity by 
reminding himself of the ludicrous commonplace- 
ness of his grievance against fate. He knew men 
so situated by dozens, and nobody thought them 
ill-used. No more they were, he supposed; at 
least, it seemed nobody’s fault, and, in view of 
sundry other sad things in the world, not a matter 
to make a fuss about. 

He found Dale in high spirits : for Dale had 
conceived a benevolent scheme, by which he was 
to make two of his friends happy — as happy as 
Tora Smith and Harry Fulmer, the news of whom 
he heard with the distant interest to which Tora’s 
bygone hostility restricted him. He and Arthur 
Angell had dined together, smoked together, and 
drunk whisky and water together, and the flood- 
gates of confidence had been opened ; a thing prone 
to occur under such circumstances, a thing that 
seems then very natural, and reserves any appear- 
ance of strangeness for next morning’s cold med- 
142 


DALE TRIES HIS HAND AT AN ODE 


itations. Dale had chanted Janet’s charms, and 
Arthur had been emboldened to an antistrophe in 
praise of Nellie Fane. It was a revelation to Dale 
— a delightful revelation. It would be ideally 
suitable, and it was his pleasure that the happy 
issue should be forwarded by all legitimate means. 

“Arthur’s going to stay,” he said; “and I’ve 
written to Nellie to tell her to come down with her 
mother.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“Of course, I’ve said nothing about Arthur. 
I’ve put it on the royal visit. She’d like to be here 
for that anyhow ; and when she’s here, Arthur must 
look out for himself.” 

“ Why couldn’t he do it in London? They live 
on the same pair of stairs,” objected Philip. 

“ Oh, London ! who the deuce could make love 
in London ? ” asked Dale in narrow-minded igno- 
rance. “People’s faces are always dirty in Lon- 
don.” 

Philip smiled, but this new plan seemed to him 
a bad one. It was one of Dale’s graces to be un- 
conscious of most of his triumphs, and it had evi- 
dently never struck him that Nellie’s affections 
would offer any obstacle to the scheme, or cause 
her fatally to misinterpret what the scheme was. 

“ I don’t see,” said Philip, “ that she is more 
likely to be captivated by our young friend here 
than in London.” 

“ My dear fellow, he’s at work there, and so is 
she. Here they’ll have nothing else to do.” 

While Dale chattered over his great idea, Philip 
pondered whether to interfere or not. He was 
certain that Nellie had been fond, not of Arthur 
Angell, but of Dale himself; he feared she would 
143 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


think her invitation came from Dale’s own heart, 
not in favour to a friend, and he suspected the 
kindness would end in pain. But, on the other 
hand, affections change, and there is such a thing 
as falling back on the good, when the better is out 
of reach; and, finally, there is a sound general 
principle that where it is doubtful wdiether to hold 
one’s tongue or not, one’s tongue should be held. 
Philip held his. 

He shrugged his shoulders and said, 

“If this goes on, a bachelor won’t be safe in 
Denborough. What have you been doing ? ” and 
he pointed at some scribbling which lay on the table. 

Dale flushed a little. 

“ Oh, I’ve just been trying my hand at that little 
thing they want me to do — you know. ” 

“ For the Radical meeting ? ” 

“No, no. For the Duke of Mercia’s visit.” 

“ Oh ! So you’re going to do it ? ” 

Dale assumed a candid yet judicial air. 

“ If I find I can say anything gracious and be- 
coming, without going back on my principles, Phil, 
I think I shall. Otherwise not.” 

“ I see, old fellow. Think you will be able ? ” 

“ I don’t intend to budge an inch from my true 
position for anybody.” 

“ Don’t be too hard on the Duke. He’s a young 
man.” 

Dale became suspicious that he was being treated 
with levity ; he looked annoyed, and Philip hastened 
to add, 

“ My dear boy, write your poem, and never mind 
what people tell you about your principles. Why 
shouldn’t you write some verses to the young man ? ” 

“ That’s what I say,” replied Dale eagerly. “ It 
144 


DALE TRIES HIS HAND AT AN ODE 


doesn’t compromise me in the least. I think you’re 
quite right, Phil.” 

And he sat down again with a radiant expression. 

Philip lit his pipe, and drew his chair near the 
fire, listening idly to the light scratchings of the 
writing and the heavy scratchings of the erasures. 

“You seem to scratch out a lot, Dale,” he re- 
marked. 

“ A thing’s no good,” said Dale, without turning 
round, “till you’ve scratched it all out twice at 
least.” 

“It’s a pity, then,” said Philip, pulling at his 
pipe and looking into the fire, “ that we aren’t al- 
lowed to treat life like that.” 

His words struck a chord in Dale’s memory. He 
started up, and repeated — 

“ The moving Finger writes, and having writ 
Moves on, nor all your piety nor wit 
Can lure it back to cancel half a line, 

Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.” 

“And yet,” said Philip, stretching out a hand 
to the flickering blaze, “ we go on being pious and 
wise — some of us; and we go on crying — all of us.” 


145 


CHAPTER XVIII 


DELILAH JOHNSTONE 

When it became known to Mr. Delane that the 
ode of welcome would be forthcoming, a fact which, 
without being definitely announced, presently made 
its way into general knowledge, he felt that he owed 
Dale Bannister a good turn. The young man was 
obviously annoyed and hurt at the aspect of Aider- 
man Johnstone’s window, and the Squire could not, 
moreover, conceal from himself that the parade of 
the Alderman’s sandwich-men on the day of the 
royal visit would detract from the unanimity of 
loyalty and contentment with Queen and Constitu- 
tion which he felt Denborough ought to display. 
Finally, his wife and his daughter were so strongly 
of opinion that something must be done, that he 
had no alternative but to try to do something. In- 
timidation had failed: the Alderman entrenched 
himself behind his lease ; and Colonel Smith’s open 
triumph was hardly needed to show the Squire that 
in this matter he had been caught napping. Bribery 
of a direct and pecuniary sort was apparently also 
of no avail, and the Squire was driven to play his 
last card at the cost of great violence to his own 
feelings. A week before the great day, he sent for 
the Mayor and was closeted with him for half an 
hour. The Mayor came out from the conference 
with an important air, and, on his way home, 
stopped at Alderman Johnstone’s door. The 
poems, placards, and posters were still prominently 
146 


DELILAH JOHNSTONE 


displayed, and over the way, James Roberts, in his 
well-worn coat, paced up and down on his un- 
wearying patrol. He would wait days rather than 
miss Dale, in case the poet might chance to pass 
that way. He had nothing to do, for no one sent 
for him now. He had no money, and could earn 
none : therefore his time was his own, and he chose 
to spend it thus ; forgetting his wife and his child, 
forgetting even to ask how it happened that there 
was still food and fuel in his house, or to suspect 
what made him so often see Philip Hume walk 
past with an inquiring gaze, indifferently concealed, 
and so often meet Dale’s servant, Wilson, carrying 
baskets up and down the street on his way to and 
from Littlehill. 

The Mayor went in and fell into conversation 
with Johnstone. He spoke of the glories of the 
coming day, of his own new gown, and of Mrs. 
Hedger’s ; and as he raised his voice in enthusiastic 
description, Mrs. Johnstone stole in from the back 
parlour and stood within the door. The Alderman 
affected scorn of the whole affair, and chuckled ma- 
liciously when the Mayor referred to Dale Ban- 
nister. 

“Then,” said the Mayor, “after the Institoot’s 
opened, there’s a grand luncheon at the Grange, 
with the Duke, and his Lordship, and the Squire, 
and all.” 

He paused : the Alderman whistled indifferently, 
and his wife drew a step nearer. The Mayor pro- 
ceeded, bringing his finest rhetoric into play. 

“The Crown,” he said, “the County, and the 
Town will be represented.” 

“ What, are you going, Hedger ? ” asked the Al- 
derman with an incredulous laugh. 

147 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ The Squire and Mrs. Delane are so good as to 
make a point of me and Mrs. Hedger attendin’ — in 
state, Johnstone.” 

“ My ! ” said Mrs. Johnstone, moving a step 
within the door. “ That’ll be a day for Susan.” 

“His Lordship gives Susan his arm,” said the 
Mayor. 

“ Ain’t there any more going from the town ? ” 
asked Mrs. Johnstone, while the Alderman osten- 
tatiously occupied himself with one of his posters. 

“ The Squire,” replied the Mayor, “ did want 
another, — there’s no room but for two, — but he 
thinks there’s no one of sufficient standin’ — not as 
would go.” 

“ Well, I’m sure ! ” said Mrs. Johnstone. 

“ You see, ma’am,” pursued the Mayor, “ we 
must consider the lady. The lady must be asked. 
Now would you ask Mrs. Maggs, or Mrs. Jenks, or 
Mrs. Capper, or any o’ that lot, ma’am ? ” 

“ Sakes, no ! ” said Mrs. Johnstone scornfully. 

“ 4 There is a lady,’ I says to the Squire, fi as 
would do honour to the town, but there — the man’s 
wrong there ! ’ ” 

Mrs. Johnstone came nearer still, glancing at her 
husband. 

“ When I mentioned the party I was thinkin’ 
of,” the Mayor went on, “ the Squire slapped his 
thigh, and, says he, ‘The very man we want, 
Hedger,’ he says : 6 all parties ought to be repre- 
sented. He’s a Liberal — a prominent Liberal — so 
much the better. Now, won’t he come ? ’ ‘Well,’ 
says I, ‘he’s an obstinate man; ’ and Mrs. Delane 
says, ‘ You must try, Mr. Mayor. Say what pleas- 
ure it ’ud give me to see him and Mrs. Johnstone — ’ 
There, I’ve let it out ! ” 


148 


DELILAH JOHNSTONE 


A pause followed. The Mayor drew a card from 
his pocket. It was headed “To have the honour 
of meeting H.R.H. the Duke of Mercia.” The 
Mayor laid it on the counter. 

“ There ! ” he said. “ You must do as you think 
right, Johnstone. Of course, if you like to go on 
like this, worryin’ the Squire’s friends, why, it isn’t 
for you to put your legs under the Squire’s ma’og- 
any. So the Squire says. He says, 4 Let him drop 
that nonsense, and come and be friendly — he may 
think what he likes.’ ” 

There was another pause. 

“ There’ll have been nothin’ like it in my day,” 
said the Mayor. “ And only me and Susan from 
the town ! ” 

44 There’ll be plenty ready to go,” said John- 
stone. 

44 Ay, that there will, but they won’t have the 
askin’. Mrs. Delane says there ain’t a soul she’ll 
have, except me and Susan, and you and Mrs. 
Johnstone. You see, ma’am, it isn’t every one who 
can sit down with the county.” 

The heart of Mrs. Johnstone was alight with 
pride and exultation and longing. She looked at 
her husband and she looked at the Mayor. 

44 You and me and the Recorder ’ud drive up in 
the coach,” said the Mayor, with the air of one who 
regretfully pictures an impossible ideal ; 44 and the 
ladies — Mrs. Hedger and you, ma’am — was to fol- 
low in a carriage and pair with a postillion — his 
Lordship ’ud send one for ye.” 

44 I’d wear my ruby velvet,” murmured Mrs. 
Johnstone in the voice of soliloquy, 44 and my gold 
earrings.” 

44 Well, I must be goin’,” said the Mayor. 44 It’s 
149 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


a cryin’ shame you won’t come, Johnstone. What’s 
that mad feller Roberts to you ? ” 

“ A dirty villain as starves his wife! ” ejaculated 
Mrs. Johnstone, with sudden violence. 

The Alderman looked up with a start. 

“ Take a day to think it over,” said the Mayor. 
“ Take a day, ma’am ; ” and he disappeared with a 
smile on his shrewd, good-tempered face. 

There was silence for a moment after he went. 
The Alderman sat in his chair, glancing at his wife 
out of the corner of his eye. Mrs. Johnstone gazed 
fixedly at the shop-window. The Alderman looked 
at her again : she was, he thought (with much jus- 
tice), a fine woman ; she would look well in the 
ruby velvet and the gold earrings, and the swells 
would wonder where old Johnstone picked up that 
strapping young woman — for she was his junior by 
twenty years. The Alderman sighed, and looked 
down again at his poster. 

Presently Mrs. Johnstone stole quietly towards 
the window, the Alderman covertly watching her. 
When she reached it, she threw a coquettish glance 
over her shoulder at her elderly husband : did she 
not know, as well as he, that she was a fine young 
woman ? 

Then she began to take Dale Bannister’s books 
out of their place, piling them behind the counter, 
and to tear down the bills and placards. The Aider- 
man sat and watched her, till she had finished her 
task. Then he rose and thundered, 

“ Put them things back, Sally. Do you ’ear me ? 
I ain’t going to be made a fool of.” 

Probably Mrs. Johnstone was not so sure. She 
burst into tears and flung her arms round the 
Alderman’s neck. 


150 


DELILAH JOHNSTONE 


“ There ! what’s there to cry about ? ” said he, 
drawing her on to his knee. 

While the Mayor was still in the shop, James 
Roberts had gone home to his mid-day meal. He 
ate it with good appetite, not knowing who had 
paid for it, and not noticing his wife’s terror lest he 
should ask her. After the meal, he went to his 
study and read some of Dale’s poetry, declaiming it 
loudly and with fury, while Ethel listened with the 
horror that had begun to gain on her increasing and 
increasing as she listened. She was afraid of him 
now — afraid most for him, but also for the child 
and herself; and she thanked Heaven every time 
he went out peacefully, and again when he came 
back unhurt. 

It was about four when the Doctor took his hat 
and walked down the street to resume his patrol. 
To his amazement, the window was bare, the books 
gone, the placards and posters all torn down. 
With an oath he rushed into the shop, and found 
the Alderman sitting behind a pile of volumes, on 
the top of which lay an envelope addressed to him- 
self. 

“ What’s the meaning of this? ” gasped the Doc- 
tor, and as he spoke the glass door which led to the 
parlour opened a little way. 

“ It means. Doctor, that I’ve had enough of it.” 

“ Enough of it? ” 

“ Yes. Mr. Bannister ain’t done me any ’arm, 
and I’m not going to fret him any more.” 

“ You scoundrel ! ” shrieked the maddened man; 
“ you thief! you took my money — you ” 

“ There’s your books, and there in the envelope 
you’ll find your ’undred pound. Take ’em and 
get out.” 


151 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“So Bannister has been at you?” sneered Rob- 
erts. 

“ I ain’t seen ’im.” 

“Ah!” 

He was quiet now, the cold fit was on him. He 
took no notice of the books, but put the envelope 
in his pocket and turned to go, saying, 

“ You think you can stop my revenge, you piti- 
ful fool; you’ll see.” 

Johnstone gave himself a shake. 

“ I’m well out of that,” he said. “ I b’lieve he’s 
crazy. Sally, where are you ? ” 

Sally came, and no doubt the Alderman gained 
the reward of the righteous, in whose house there 
is peace. 

When the Squire received an acceptance of his 
invitation from Alderman and Mrs. Johnstone he 
became more than ever convinced that every Radi- 
cal was at heart a snob. Perhaps it would have 
been fair to remember that most of them are 
husbands. Be that as it may, his scheme had 
worked. The posters, the books, and the sandwich- 
men were gone. There was nothing now to re- 
mind Denborough that it harboured a revolution- 
ist. What was more important still, there was 
nothing to remind Dale Bannister of the indiscre- 
tions of his past. He might now read his ode, 
unblushing, in High Street, and no placard would 
scream in ill-omened reminder — “No more Kings ! ” 


152 


CHAPTER XIX 


A WELL-PAID POEM 

Among the quieter satisfactions of life must be 
ranked in a high place the peace of a man who has 
made up his mind. He is no longer weighing per- 
plexing possibilities, but, having chosen his path, 
feels that he has done all that can be done, and 
that this conviction will enable him to bear with 
patience the outcome of his determination, what- 
ever it may be. Of course he is wrong, and if 
misfortune comes, his philosophy will go to the 
wall, but for the moment it seems as if fate cannot 
harm him, because he has set his course and bidden 
defiance to it. 

Dale had made up his mind to disregard cavillers, 
not to write the Radical ditty, to write the ode of 
welcome, and, lastly, to follow whither his inclina- 
tion led. And, on the top of these comforting reso- 
lutions came the removal of his thorn in the flesh — 
Johnstone’s be-placarded shop-window — and the 
glow of well-rewarded benevolence with which he 
had witnessed Nellie Fane’s ill-concealed delight in 
her return to Littlehill and Arthur Angell’s openly 
declared pleasure in greeting her. Dale began to 
think that he had too easily allowed himself to be 
put out, and had been false to his poetic tempera- 
ment by taking trifles hardly. He was jocund as 
he walked, and nature responded to his mood : the 
sun shone bright and warm on him, and the spring 
air was laden with pleasant hints of coming sum- 
11 153 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


mer. He wondered how and why, a few weeks 
ago, he had nearly bidden a disgusted farewell to 
Market Denborough. 

Now, when a man sets out in such a mood, 
being a young man, and a man, as they used to 
say, of sensibility, next to anything may happen. 
From his contented meditations on the happy 
arrangement he had made for his friends, Dale’s 
thoughts travelled on to his own affairs. He was 
going to the Grange, — he was always going to the 
Grange now, and he seemed always welcome there. 
Mrs. Delane was kind, the Squire was effusive, and 
Janet — Here his thoughts became impossible to 
record in lowly prose. The goddess had become 
flesh for him ; still stately and almost severe in her 
maiden reserve to all others, as she had once been 
to him, now for him she smiled and blushed, and 
would look, and look away, and look again, and 
vainly summon her tamed pride to hide what her 
delight proclaimed. It was sudden. Oh yes; 
anything worth having was sudden, thought lucky 
Dale. Fame had been sudden, wealth had been 
sudden. Should not love be sudden too ? 

“ If I get a chance — ” said Dale to himself, 
and he smiled and struck at the weeds with his 
stick, and hummed a tune. Anything might hap- 
pen. 

The Prince was due in three days, and already 
flags and triumphal arches were beginning to ap- 
pear. It is to be hoped that the demand for drugs 
was small, for Mr. Hedger was to be found every- 
where but behind his own counter, and Alderman 
Johnstone, having once taken the plunge, was 
hardly less active in superintending the prepara- 
tions. The men who had carried those obnoxious 

154 


A WELL-PAID POEM 


boards were now more worthily earning their bread 
by driving in posts and nailing up banners, and 
Dale saw that Denborough was in earnest, and 
meant to make the reception a notable testimony 
to its loyalty. He loitered to watch the stir for a 
little while, for it was early afternoon, and he must 
not arrive at the Grange too soon. Not even the 
ode itself, which he carried in his pocket, could ex- 
cuse an intrusion on the Squire’s mid-day repose. 
As he stood looking on, he was accosted by Dr. 
Spink. 

“ I have just been to see Roberts,” he said. 

“ Is he ill ? ” 

“Yes. His wife sent for me. As you may 
suppose, she would not have done so for nothing.” 

“ What’s the matter? ” 

“ I don’t like his state at all. He took no notice 
of me, but lay on his bed, muttering to himself. I 
think he’s a little touched here ; ” and the doctor 
put a finger just under the brim of his well-brushed 
hat. 

“ Poor chap ! ” said Dale. “ I should like to go 
and see him.” 

Spink discouraged any such idea. 

“ You’re the very last person he ought to see. I 
want him to go away.” 

“ Has he got any money? ” 

“ Yes, I think so. His wife told me he had 
now.” 

“ And won’t he go ? ” 

“ He says he must stay till after the 15th ” (the 
15th was the great day), “and then he will go. 
That’s the only word I could get out of him. I 
told his wife to let me know at once if there was 
any change for the worse.” 

155 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ It’s hard on her, poor little woman, ” said Dale, 
passing on his way. 

He found Tora Smith and Sir Harry at the 
Grange. Rather to his surprise, Tora greeted him 
with friendly cordiality, accepting his congratula- 
tions very pleasantly. He had expected her to 
show some resentment at his refusal to write a 
song for her, but in Tora’s mind, songs and poets, 
Liberal meetings, and even royal visits, had been, 
for the time at least, relegated to a distant back- 
ground of entire unimportance. Captain Ripley 
was there also, with the ill-used air that he could 
not conceal, although he was conscious that it only 
aggravated his bad fortune. He took his leave a 
very few minutes after Dale arrived; for what 
pleasure was there in looking on while everybody 
purred over Dale, and told him his ode was the 
most magnificent tribute ever paid to a youthful 
Prince? Dale, in his heart, thought the same, — 
so does a man love what he creates, — but he bore 
his compliments with a graceful outward modesty. 

The afternoon was so unseasonably fine — such 
was the reason given — that Janet and he found 
themselves walking in the garden, she talking mer- 
rily of their preparations, he watching her fine, 
clear-cut profile, and, as she turned to him in talk, 
the gay dancing of her eyes. 

“ Your doing it,” she said, “just makes the whole 
thing perfect. How can we thank you enough, 
Mr. Bannister?” 

“The Captain did not seem to care about my 
verses,” Dale remarked, with a smile. 

Janet blushed a little, and gave him a sudden 
glance — a glance that was a whole book of confi- 
dences, telling what she never could have told in 
156 


A WELL-PAID POEM 


words, what she never would have told at all, did 
not the eyes sometimes outrun their mandate and 
speak unbidden of the brain. 

Dale smiled again — this time in triumph. 

“ You like them ? ” he asked softly, caressing the 
little words with his musical, lingering tones. 

“ Oh yes, yes,” she said, looking at him once 
more for a moment, and then hastily away. 

“I’ll write you a volume twice as good, if — I 
may.” 

“ Twice as good ? ” she echoed, with a laugh. 
“Now, honestly, don’t you think these perfect 
yourself? ” 

“ They are good — better than any I wrote be- 
fore ” — he paused to watch her face, and went on 
in a lower voice — “ I knew you ; but I shall do 
better, the more I know you and the better.” 

Janet had no light answer ready now. Her heart 
was beating, and she had much ado not to bid him 
end her sweet, unbearable excitement. 

They had reached the end of the terrace and 
passed into the wood that skirted it to the west. 
Suddenly she made a movement as if to turn and 
go back. 

“No, no,” he whispered in her ear; and as she 
wavered, he caught her by the arm, and, without 
words of asking or of doubt, drew her to him and 
kissed her. 

“ My beauty, my queen, my love ! ” he whispered. 
“ You love me, you love me ! ” 

She drew back her head, straightening the white 
column of her neck, while her hands held his shoul- 
ders. “ Ah, I would die for you ! ” she said. 

Mrs. Delane was a woman of penetration. 
Though Janet told her nothing of what had oc- 
157 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


curred ? — for she and Dale agreed to let the matter 
remain a secret till the impending festivities were 
over, — yet Mrs 0 Delane saw something in her 
daughter's air which made her that same evening 
express to the Squire her doleful conviction that 
the worst had happened. 

“ I shall say nothing to Janet,” she said, “ till she 
speaks to me. I can trust her absolutely. But I 
am afraid of it, George. Poor Gerard Ripley ! ” 

“ My dear, I’m not going to break my heart 
about Gerard Ripley. I think more of Jan.” 

“Well, of course, so do I. And I don’t at all 
like it. He’s not — well, not our sort, as the young 
people say.” 

“ Mary, you’re talking slang. What’s the matter 
with him? The match will make Jan famous.” 

“ W ell, well, I don’t like it, but you must have 
your way.” 

“ It’s not my way. It’s Jan’s way. Is she fond 
of him ? ” 

“ Terribly, I’m afraid, poor child ! ” 

The Squire became a little irritated at this per- 
sistently sorrowful point of view. 

“ Really, my dear, why shouldn’t she be fond of 
him? It’s not a bad thing when people are going 
to marry.” 

“ I wish I’d seen it in time to stop it.” 

“ On the whole, Mary, I’m rather glad you didn’t. 
I like the young fellow.” 

In this state of things — with the lady eagerly 
consenting, and a father all but ready to urge her 
on — well might Captain Ripley ride recklessly 
home from Dirkham Grange, cursing the ways of 
women and the folly of men, and promising him- 
self to go to India and there be killed, to the end 
158 


J 


A WELL-PAID POEM 


that his tragic fate might bring a pang to Janet’s 
heart in future days. Well might he discover a 
sudden recall, and return to his regiment, escaping 
the Denborough celebrations, and risking offence 
in exalted quarters. So he went; and nobody at 
Denborough thought any more about him — not 
even Janet, for joy swallows up pity, and the best 
of humanity are allowed, without reproach, to be 
selfish once or twice in life. 

That same night, at dinner at Littlehill, Nellie 
Fane thought Dale had never been so bright, so 
brilliant, or so merry. Under his leadership, the 
fun and mirth waxed fast and furious, till it carried 
away her doubts and fears, and Angell’s sore 
wonderings why she looked always at Dale and 
never at him, and Philip’s troubled forebodings of 
sorrows no friendly hand could avert. Dale’s high 
spirits bore no check and suffered no resistance, and 
there was a tumult in Littlehill, such as had not 
been heard since its early indecorous days. 

Suddenly, into this scene, followed hastily by 
Wilson, there broke, hatless and cloakless, Ethel 
Roberts, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. 
Running to Philip Hume, she cried, 

« My husband! He has gone, he has gone ! We 
cannot find him. He has gone, and taken the 
pistol with him. What shall I do? Oh, what 
shall I do?” 


159 


CHAPTER XX 


AN EVENING’S END 

The next morning, Roberts’ friends held an anx- 
ious conference. The Doctor, being left alone 
while his wife went out on household affairs, had, 
it seemed, risen from bed, dressed himself, and left 
the house. He had taken a few pounds, part of 
what Johnstone had returned to him, but no lug- 
gage. Nothing was gone, except his revolver, 
which had lain on the mantelpiece, his wife having 
feared to take it away. In the absence of other 
explanation, it seemed most probable that he had 
suddenly determined to return to London, and 
Dr. Spink thought London the best place to look 
for him. Accordingly, Philip Hume at once started 
in pursuit ; for all felt, though none of them liked 
to express the feeling, that Roberts was not in a 
state in which he could safely be trusted to look 
after himself. His wife was helpless with grief and 
bewilderment, and kindly Mrs. Hodge determined 
to spend the day with her, and return to Littlehill 
only late in the evening : thus at least proper at- 
tention would be secured to the helpless child and 
its hardly less helpless mother. 

Not even these troubles could keep Dale from 
the Grange, and after dinner, with an apology to 
Nellie and Arthur, he announced his intention of 
strolling over, to ask the Squire at what point in 
the proceedings his ode was to come. Nellie had 
a letter to write, or said she had, and Arthur An- 
160 


AN EVENING S END 


gell offered to bear Dale company part of the way, 
with a cigar. 

The two men set out together, and Arthur did 
not leave his friend till they were at the Grange 
drive. Then he sauntered back, humming snatches 
of song between his puffs of smoke, and rejoicing 
in the glory of a full moon. He had almost reached 
the gate of Littlehill, when, to his surprise, he saw, 
a few yards from him, a figure that seemed famil- 
iar. He caught sight of it only for a moment, for 
the trees then came between ; and yet he felt al- 
most sure that the stealthily-moving form was that 
of James Roberts. He stood watching to see him 
again, but he did not; and, going into the house, 
he told Nellie what he thought he had seen. 

“ Dr. Roberts going towards the Grange ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ You must be mistaken.” 

“ I don’t think so. It looked like him.” 

Nellie was not inclined to think he could be 
right, but she agreed that Arthur had better go 
and tell Dr. Spink of his suspicions. Arthur went 
off on his errand, and she sat by the fire alone. 

Abandoning herself to reverie, she idly and sad- 
ly reviewed the events of the days since her return. 
How joyfully she had come ! But it had hardly 
been as good as she hoped. Dale was very kind, 
when he was there. But why did he leave her so 
much — leave her to Arthur Angell ? And ah, 
why did he go so much to the Grange ? It was 
all far pleasanter before he came to Denborough, 
before he knew these great people — yes, and before 
this Dr. Roberts was there to worry them. The 
thought of Roberts carried her mind in a new di- 
rection. What a strange man he was ! And his 
poor wife ! She could not think why he had be- 
161 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

come so odd and so unfriendly. Yet it was so. 
He seemed absolutely to hate Dale : she had seen 
him look at him so fiercely. Dale had not ruined 
him ; he had ruined himself. He was mad to blame 
Dale. Ah, wasn’t he mad? — She sat up suddenly 
in her chair. What if Arthur were right? What 
if it were he ? Why was he going to the Grange ? 
Dale was there. What was that they said about 
a pistol ? Ah — if — 

Without another thought she rose, and as she 
was, in her evening dress and thin shoes, she ran 
out of the house and along the wooded road tow- 
ards the Grange. A terrible idea was goading her 
on. He was mad : he hated Dale : he had a re- 
volver with him. Oh, could she be in time ? They 
would wonder at her. What did that matter ? 
Her love, her lord was — or might be — in danger. 
She pressed on, till she panted and had to pause ; 
then, with breath but half-recovered, over rough 
and smooth ground, knowing no difference, she 
sped on her way. 

Dale’s talk with the Squire was not long ; but 
the Squire’s daughter came to the door to bid him 
good-night, and was easily persuaded to walk a 
little way down the drive with him. She went 
farther than she meant, as was natural enough ; 
for she was leaning on his arm, and he was telling 
her, in that caressing voice of his, that all his life 
and heart and brain and power were hers, and lav- 
ishing sweet words on her. 

“ I must go back, Dale,” she said. “ They will 
wonder what has become of me.” 

“ Not yet.” 

“ Yes, I must.” 

“ Ah, my darling, how soon will it be when we 
162 


AN EVENINGS END 

need never part ? How soon ? I mean how long, 
till then ! Do you love me ? ” 

44 You know, Dale.” 

44 What was it you said the other day ? — was it 
only yesterday ? — that you would die for me ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

46 Ah, Jan, my sweetest Jan, that you should say 
that to me ! ” 

They said no more, but did not part yet. At 
last, he suffered her to tear herself away. 

“ I shall run back through the shrubbery,” she 
whispered. 

44 I shall wait.” 

“Yes, wait. When I get in, I will show you a 
light from my window. A good-night light, Dale.” 

She sped away down a side-path, and Dale leant 
against a tree, in the moonlight, fixing his lovelorn 
eyes on the window. 

As Janet turned down her path, she rushed, in 
her rapid flight, against a man who stood there in 
lurking. 

Dale’s side was to him, but he was watching 
Dale, with a sneering smile on his lips. When she 
saw him, she started back. In a moment he seized 
her shoulder with one hand, and pressed a pistol to 
her head. 

46 If you make a sound, I’ll kill you,” he hissed. 
44 Don’t stir — don’t scream.” 

She was paralysed with surprise and fright. It 
was Roberts, and — what did he mean? 

He pushed her slowly before him, the revolver 
still at her head, till they reached the drive. Dale’s 
eyes were set on his mistress’s window, and their 
feet made no noise on the grass- edges of the drive. 
Roberts gave a low laugh, and whispered in her ear, 
163 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

“ He came to see you, did he ? The traitor ! 
Not a sound! Wait till he turns! wait till he 
turns ! I want him to see me. When he turns, I 
shall shoot him.” 

At last she understood. The madman meant to 
kill Dale. 

He would kill him, before Dale could defend 
himself. She must warn him — at any cost, she 
must warn him. If it cost her 

“ Not a sound,” hissed Roberts. “ A sound and 
you are dead — your head blown to bits — blown to 
bits ! ” And again he laughed, but noiselessly. 

It was her life against his. Ah, she must warn 
him — she must cry out ! But the cold barrel 
pressed against her temple, and the madman’s 
voice hissed in her ear — 

“ Blown to bits — blown to bits ! ” 

She couldn’t die, she couldn’t die ! — not like that 
— not blown to bits! Perhaps he would miss — 
Dale might escape. She couldn't die ! 

He advanced a little nearer, keeping on the grass- 
edge and pushing her before him, still whispering 
to her of death and its horrors, if she made a sound. 
It was too horrible : she could not bear it. Ah ! he 
was measuring the distance. She must cry out ! 
She opened her lips. Quick as thought, he pressed 
the barrel to her head. She could not, could not 
do it; and, with a groan, she sank, a senseless heap, 
on the ground at his feet. 

Suddenly a shot rang out, and a woman’s cry. 
Dale started from his reverie, to see a woman a 
step or two from him; a woman, tottering, sway- 
ing, falling forward on her face, as he rushed to 
support her in his arms. 

There was a shout of men’s voices, and, follow- 
164 


AN EVENINGS END 


ing on it, another report, and James Roberts fell 
beside Janet Delane, his head, as he had said, blown 
to bits : and two panting men, who had run all the 
way from Denborough, were raising Janet and look- 
ing if she were dead, and then laying her down 
again and turning to where Nellie Fane lay in life- 
less quiet in Dale’s arms. 

“ A minute sooner and we should have been in 
time,” said Arthur Angell to Dr. Spink, as the 
Doctor pushed Dale aside and knelt over Nellie. 

And Dale, relieved, ran at all his speed to where 
Janet lay and threw himself on his knees beside her. 

“ My love, open your eyes,” he cried. 


165 


CHAPTER XXI 


“THE OTHER GIRL DID” 

On the afternoon of the morrow, Philip Hume, 
who, summoned by a telegram from Dr. Spink, 
had come down to Denborough by the first train 
he could catch, put on his hat, and, lighting his 
pipe, took a turn up and down the road that ran by 
Littlehill. Since his coming he had been in the 
house, and the house had seemed almost to stifle 
him. He had a man’s feeling of uselessness in the 
face of a sick-room : he could do nothing to help 
Nellie Fane in her struggle for life; he only hin- 
dered the people who could do something. Nor 
did he succeed much better with those whose ail- 
ments were of the mind. Arthur Angell sat in 
one room, suspecting now that, whether Nellie 
lived or died, his dearest hopes were dead. Dale, in 
another room, strode unrestingly to and fro, waiting 
for Wilson to come back from the messages he 
kept sending him on, now up-stairs to Nellie’s door, 
now down the town to Ethel Roberts’, now, and most 
often, to the Grange ; and always Wilson, his fore- 
head wet and his legs weary, came back and said, 

“ Please, sir, there is no change.” 

Once Nellie had been conscious, had asked “Is 
he safe ? ” and, receiving her answer, had closed her 
eyes again. Ethel Roberts was in no danger; the 
shock would pass. Of Janet there came no news, 
save that she was alone with her mother, and cried 
to be alone even from her mother. James Roberts, 
166 


“ THE OTHER GIRL DID 


in his frenzy, had indeed wrought havoc, and Philip, 
as he walked and smoked, vehemently, though 
silently, cursed the ways of this world. 

Presently Mrs. Hodge came out in her bonnet. 

“Nellie is well looked after,” she said. “I am 
going down to see how that poor little Roberts is.” 

Philip did not offer to go with the good woman. 
He watched her heavy figure hastening down the 
hill, wondering that she seemed almost happy in 
her busy services of kindness. He could do noth- 
ing but fret, and smoke, and try to keep out of the 
way. 

A smart brougham drove up. It stopped by 
him, and Tora Smith jumped out. 

“ How is she ? ” she cried. 

“ Spink thinks she will pull through,” answered 
Philip ; “ but of course she’s in great danger still.” 

“ May I go to her ? ” asked Tora. 

“ She sees no one,” he replied in surprise. 

“ Oh, I don’t mean to see her. I mean to stay 
and help — to nurse her, you know.” 

“ It is very kind of you : she has her mother and 
a nurse.” 

“ Oh, won’t you let me? 

“ It does not rest with me. But why should 
you?” 

“ I — I once thought such horrid things of her. 
And — wasn’t it splendid ? ” 

Philip looked kindly at her. 

“ That will please her,” he said, “ and her friends.” 

“ Mayn’t I help? ” 

“ I tell you what : poor Mrs. Roberts has no one 
but a hired nurse. Mrs. Hodge has run down for 
a minute, but of course she can’t leave her daughter 
long.” 


167 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ You mean I ought to go to her ? ” 

“ One can’t even be kind in the way one likes 
best,” said Philip. 

“Well, I will. But I should have loved to be 
with Miss Fane. I can’t tell you how I feel about 
her. I think people who think evil things of other 
people ought to be beaten , Mr. Hume.” 

“ Doubtless, but justice flags. You can’t expect 
me to beat you, Miss Smith.” 

Tora smiled for a minute; then she wiped her 
eyes again, and asked gravely, 

“ Are you never serious ? ” 

“ Yes ; I am serious now. Go to that poor wom- 
an ; consider doing that in the light of a beating.” 

“ You’ll let Miss Fane know I — I ? ” 

“ Yes ; and Dale. What a terrible facer for our 
celebrations, isn’t it ? ” 

“Oh yes. Harry has ridden over to see Lord 
Cransford about it. Mr. Delane wants the thing 
put off, if possible.” 

“ Can you put off a Prince? But I suppose he’ll 
be only too glad not to be bored with it.” 

“You know Janet is in a dreadful state? Poor 
girl ! It must have been awful for her. The man 
had hold of her! Well, I shall go. Good-bye. I 
shall run up here again to-morrow.” 

The putting off of the Prince, in spite of Philip’s 
doubt of its constitutional possibility, was managed : 
for the ceremony could hardly take place without 
Mr. Delane’s presence, as he had been the inspiring 
force of the whole movement which had resulted in 
the Institute ; and Mr. Delane felt it utterly out of 
the question for him to take any part in such fes- 
tivities, in view of the dreadful occurrence in his 
grounds and of his daughter’s serious condition. 

168 


“THE OTHER GIRL DID 


The doctors, indeed, told him that she had stood 
the shock remarkably well; they would not have 
been surprised to find her much worse. Her reason 
was unshaken, and, after the first night anyhow, the 
horror of the madmans grip and voice had left her. 
She did not, waking or sleeping, — for she slept 
sometimes, — dream that she was again in his hands, 
face to face with death ; and Dr. Spink congratu- 
lated the Squire and Mrs. Delane on a good pros- 
pect of a total recovery. Yet Mrs. Delane and the 
Squire were not altogether comforted. For Janet 
lay from morning to evening on her bed, almost 
motionless and very quiet, whenever any one was 
in the room. She asked once or twice after her 
fellow-sufferers, but, except for that, and answering 
questions, she never spoke but to say, 

“ I think I could sleep if I were alone.” 

Then Mrs. Delane would go away, trying to be- 
lieve the excuse. 

There are not many of us who would feel war- 
ranted in being very hard on a man who had failed 
in such a trial as had befallen Janet Delane: in a 
woman, failure would seem little other than a nec- 
essary consequence of her sex. Death, sudden, 
violent, and horrible, searches the heart too closely 
for any one to feel sure that his would be found 
sound to the core — not risk of death, for that most 
men will, on good cause and, even more cheerfully, 
in good company, meet and face. It is certainty 
that appals; and it had been certain death that 
had awaited Janet’s first cry. And yet she would 
not be comforted. She had stopped to think how 
certain it was ; then she failed. The mistake was 
in stopping to think at all. The other girl — the 
girl he did not love, but who, surely, loved him 
12 169 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


with a love that was love indeed — had not stopped 
to think whether the bullet could or might or must 
hit her. She had not cared which : it had been 
enough for her that it might hit the man she loved, 
unless she stood between to stop it, and she had 
stood between. How could Janet excuse her cow- 
ardice by telling herself of the certainty of death, 
when, had she not been a coward, she would never 
have stayed to know whether death were certain or 
not ? If she ever could have deluded herself like 
that, what the other girl did made it impossible. 
The other girl — so she always thought of Nellie — 
held up a mirror wherein Janet saw her own little- 
ness. And yet he had loved her, not the other; 
her life belonged to him, the others did not; she 
had proclaimed proudly, but an instant before, that 
she would die for him, and he had praised her for 
saying it. He would know now what her protes- 
tations were worth. He would be amused to think 
that it was not Janet Delane — the Janet who was 
always exhorting him to noble thoughts — who was 
proud in the pride of her race — not she who had 
dared death for him ; but that other, so far beneath 
her, whom she had not deigned to think a rival. 
Ah, but why, why had she not called? Surely 
God would have given her one moment to be glad 
in, and that would have been enough. 

She sat up in bed, the coverings falling from her, 
and her black hair streaming over her white night- 
dress. Clasping her hands over her knees, she 
looked before her out of the window. She could 
see the tree where Dale had stood and the spot 
where she had fallen; she could see the fresh red 
gravel, put down to hide the stains, and the gar- 
dener’s rake, flung down where he had used it. He 
170 


“THE OTHER GIRL DID 


must have gone to tea — gone to talk it all over 
with his wife and his friends, to wonder why Miss 
Janet had not called out, why she had left it to the 
other girl, why she had fainted, while the other 
had saved him. They would talk of “ poor Miss 
Janet,” and call the other a “rare plucked ’un ” — 
she knew their way. Nobody would ever call her 
that — not her father again, who used to boast that 
Janet, like all his house, feared nothing but dishon- 
our, and would make as good a soldier as the son 
he had longed for in vain. Her mother had come 
and called her “ a brave girl.” Why did people 
think there was any good in lies? She meant it 
kindly, but it was horrible to hear it. Lies are no 
use. Let them call her a coward, if they wanted 
to speak the truth. They all thought that. Dale 
thought it, — Dale, who must be admiring that 
other girl’s gallantry, and wondering why he had 
not loved her, instead of loving a girl who talked 
big, and, when danger came, fainted — and stood by 
to see him die. 

Of course he could not go on loving her after 
this. He would feel — everybody must feel — that 
he owed his life to the girl who had saved him, and 
must give it to her. Very likely he would come 
and pretend to want her still. He would think it 
right to do that, though it would really be kinder 
just to let her drop. She would understand. No- 
body knew he had spoken to her ; perhaps nobody 
need : it would not seem so bad to people who did 
not know she had promised to be his wife. Not 
that it mattered much what people thought. She 
knew what she was, and — she must let him go, 
she must let him go. And here, for the first time, 
she buried her head in her pillow and sobbed. 

171 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


Mrs. Delane came in. 

“ Why, Janet dearest, you’ve nothing over you I 
You’ll catch cold. What’s the matter, darling ? 
Are you frightened ? ” 

There it was! Everybody thought she was 
frightened now. 

“ There is a message from Mr. Bannister, darling. 
He wants so much to see you, and the doctor 
thinks it would do you no harm. Do you think 
you could dress and see him ? ” 

“ He wants to see me ? ” 

“ Why, yes, dear. Of course, Jan. I know, my 
dear.” 

“ To leave her and come and see me.” 

“ Miss Fane ? Oh, she’s going on very well. 
There’s no reason he shouldn’t come over here. 
You would like to see him, Jan ? ” 

“ Tell him to go away — tell him to go to her — 
tell him to leave me alone.” 

“ But, Jan dearest ” 

“ Oh, mamma, mamma, do leave me alone ! ” 

Mrs. Delane went and told the messenger that 
Miss Delane might see no one for a day or two ; 
she was still too agitated. Then she sought her 
husband and told him of their daughter’s words. 

“ She must be a little queer still,” said the Squire, 
with anxiety. “ Don’t be worried, Mary. She’s a 
strong girl, and she’ll soon throw it off.” 

But she could not throw it off — not that thought 
which had burnt into her breast ; and all night, by 
the light of the moon, she sat and looked at the 
tree and the fresh gravel, the spot where her hon- 
our and her love had called on her, and called in 
vain. 


172 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE FITNESS OF THINGS 

If anything could have consoled Market Denbor- 
ough for the certain postponement and possible loss 
of the Duke of Mercia’s visit, it would have been 
the cause of these calamities. Its citizens were not 
more hard-hearted than other people, and they be- 
stowed much sympathy on Nellie Fane, who, out 
of the competitors, was easily elected the heroine 
of the incident ; but neither were they more imper- 
vious to the charms of excitement, of gossip, and of 
notoriety. The reporters and the artists, who had 
been told off to describe and depict the scene of the 
royal visit, did not abandon their journey, but sub- 
stituted sketches of the fatal spot, of the Grange, 
of Littlehill, and of the actors in the tragedy ; while 
interviews with the Mayor, and anybody else who 
knew, or knew some one who knew about the cir- 
cumstances, or professed to do either, amply sup- 
plied the place which the pageant and the speeches 
had been destined to fill. And if the occurrence 
excited such interest in the great London papers, 
the broadsheets and columns of the local journals 
were a sight to behold. The circulation of the 
Standard went up by more than a hundred ; while 
the Chronicle announced, it must be admitted to a 
somewhat sceptical world, that its weekly issue had 
exhausted three editions, and could no longer be 
obtained at the booksellers’ or the office. The as- 
sertion, however, being untested, passed, and every 
173 


A CHANGE OF AIR 

one allowed that young Mingley’s detailed account 
of poor Roberts’ last words to Dale Bannister be- 
fore he fired were perfect in verisimilitude, which, 
under the regrettable circumstance of Mingley’s 
absence, and of no such words having been uttered, 
was all that could be expected. Mingley was 
puffed up, demanded a rise of salary, got it, and 
married Polly Shipwright, the young lady at the 
“Delane Arms.” So the ill wind blew Mingley 
good. Yet the editor of the Chronicle was not sat- 
isfied, and as a further result of Mingley’s activity, 
he inserted an article the following week, in which 
he referred, with some parade of mystery, to the 
romantic character of the affair. It was not only 
in fiction, he remarked, that love had opportunities 
for displaying itself in heroism, nor, it was to be 
earnestly hoped, only in the brains of imaginative 
writers that affection and gratitude found them- 
selves working together towards a joyful consum- 
mation. Denborough knew and admired its gifted 
fellow-townsman, and Denborough had been a wit- 
ness of the grace and charm of the young lady who 
had shed such lustre on her sex. Accordingly, 
Denborough waited the result with some confi- 
dence. Into this personal side of the matter the 
Standard did not try to follow its rival. Mr. De- 
lane controlled the Standard , and he forbade any 
such attempt, on grounds of careful generality. 
But the article in the Chronicle was quite enough ; 
it expressed what every one had been thinking, 
and very soon the whole town was expecting to 
hear, simultaneously, that Nellie was out of danger, 
and that she had given her hand to Dale Bannister. 
The theory was so strongly and unhesitatingly ac- 
cepted that the two or three who, mainly out of a 
174 


THE FITNESS OF THINGS 


love of paradox, put their heads on one side and 
asked how Miss Delane came to be out in the gar- 
den with Dale Bannister, were pooh-poohed and told 
that they merely showed their ignorance of the 
usages of society ; whereupon they went home and 
grumbled to their wives, but were heard no more 
in public places. 

Dale Bannister flung the Chronicle down on the 
table with a muttered oath, asking the eternally- 
asked, never- to-be-answered question, why people 
could not mind their own business, — an unjust 
query in this case, for it is a reporter s business to 
mind other peoples business. He had just come 
down from his first interview with Nellie. She was 
mending rapidly, and was now conscious, although 
any reference to the events of the fatal night was 
sternly forbidden ; he was not even allowed to 
thank the friend who, happily, had only risked, not 
lost, her life for him. He had whispered his joy at 
finding her doing well, and she had pressed his 
hand in answer ; more than that vigilant attend- 
ants prevented. Then he had come down- stairs, 
picked up the Chronicle in the hall, read the article, 
and gone into the smoking-room, where he had 
found Arthur Angell sitting by the fire, his hands 
deep in his pockets and his shoulders up to his ears, 
a picture of woe. 

“What infernal nonsense!” said Dale, with a 
vexed laugh. “Do you see how this fellow dis- 
poses of us, Arthur ? ” 

“Yes, I saw,” said Arthur gloomily. 

“ I suppose they’re bound to say that. The 
public loves romance.” 

“ I think it’s very natural they should say it. 
Why did she follow you ? Why did she risk her 
175 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


life ? Why did she ask after you the first moment 
she was conscious ? ” 

“No one but me was being murdered,” sug- 
gested Dale, with a rather uneasy smile. 

“We left her here. Why did she go out at all? 
But it’s too plain. I saw it before I had been here 
a day.” 

“Saw what, man?” asked Dale, passing by 
Arthur’s questionable assertion. 

“Why, that Nellie — you know. I don’t know 
what you feel, but I know what she feels. It’s 
rough on me having me down ” 

“ I never thought of such a thing,” said Dale 
quickly. 

“ Oh, I suppose not ; though how you didn’t — I 
say, now, before you came to Denborough, didn’t 
you ? ” 

“ I — I don’t think so. We were great friends.” 

Arthur shook his head, and Dale poked the 
little bit of fire in an impatient way. 

“ How damned crooked things go ! ” he said. 

Arthur rose and said in a decided tone, 

“Well, I’m out of it. She saved your life, and 
she’s in love with you. It seems to me your duty’s 
pretty plain. You must drop your other fancy.” 

“My other fancy?” exclaimed Dale in horror. 
Lived there a man who could call his love for 
Janet a “ fancy ” ? 

“You’d break her heart,” said Arthur, who 
thought of no one but his lady-love in his unselfish 
devotion. 

It crossed Dale’s mind to say that the situation 
seemed to involve the breaking of one heart at 
least, if Arthur were right ; but he thought he had 
no right to speak of Janet’s feelings, well as he 
176 


THE FITNESS OF THINGS 

knew them. He threw the poker down with a 
clang. 

“Take care — you’ll disturb her,” said Arthur. 

This annoyed Dale. 

“My good fellow,” he remarked, “were not all, 
except you, entirely indifferent whether she lives 
or dies. I might throw pokers about all day — and 
I feel inclined to — without her hearing me in the 
blue room.” 

“ Oh, I beg pardon,” said Arthur, turning to the 
window and looking out. 

He saw a stout man coming up the hill. It was 
the Mayor of Denborough, and he was evidently 
making for Littlehill. When he was ushered into 
the smoking-room, he explained that he had come 
to ask after Miss Fane’s progress. 

“The town, Mr. Bannister, sir,” he said, “is 
takin’ a great interest in the young lady.” 

“ I am glad to say she has, we think, turned the 
corner,” said Dale. 

“ That’s happy news for all — and you first of all, 
sir.” 

The Mayor might merely have meant that Dale’s 
feelings would be most acute, as Nellie had re- 
ceived her wound in his service ; but there was a 
disconcerting twinkle in the Mayor’s eye. 

“ Mrs. Roberts,” the Mayor continued, “ is doin’ 
first-rate. After all, it’s a riddance for her, sir. 
Have you any news from the Grange ? ” 

“ I hear there is no change in Miss Delane. She 
still suffers from the shock.” 

“ Poor young lady! I hear the Captain’s back 
at the Warren, sir.” 

“What?” 

“ Captain Ripley, sir. Back at home.” 

177 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Oh!” 

The Mayor was bursting with suppressed gossip 
on this point also, but the atmosphere was most 
repressive. He looked round in despair for another 
opening, and his eye fell on Arthur Angell. 

“ Seen the Chronicle , sir? ” he asked. “ That 
Mingley’s a sharp young chap. Still I don’t ’old — 
hold with all that talk about people. Did you say 
you’d seen it, sir ? ” 

44 Yes, I’ve seen it. It’s mostly lies.” 

“ He, he! ” chuckled the Mayor. “ You’re right, 
sir.” 

A long pause ensued before the Mayor very re- 
luctantly took his hat. 

44 I hope we shall see Miss Fane about soon, 
sir ? ” he said. 

“Oh, I hope so. I think so, if nothing goes 
wrong.” 

“ She must be proud and happy, that young lady, 
sir. As I said to my daughters, says 1, 4 Now, girls, 
which of you is goin’ to save your young man’s 
life ? ’ And my wife, Mrs. Hedger, sir, she put in, 

4 None of you, I’ll be bound, if you don’t ’ ” 

The anecdote was lost, for Dale interrupted, 

44 Let me see you as far as the gate,” and pushed 
the Mayor’s walking-stick into his hand. 

Having got rid of the Mayor, Dale did not hasten 
to return to Arthur Angell. At this moment, ex- 
asperated as he was, everything about his friend 
annoyed him — his devotion, his unselfishness, his 
readiness to accept defeat himself, his indiscreet 
zeal on behalf of his mistress. His despair for 
himself, and his exhortation to Dale, joined in 
manifesting that he neither possessed himself nor 
could understand in another what a real passion was. 

178 


THE FITNESS OF THINGS 


If he did or could, he would never have used that 
word “fancy.” How could people speak of friend- 
ship, or gratitude, or both together, as if they were, 
or were in themselves likely to lead to, love? You 
did not love a woman because you esteemed her ; 
if you loved her, you might esteem her — or you 
might not; anyhow, you worshipped her. Yet 
these peddling Denborough folk were mapping out 
his course for him. And Arthur Angell croaked 
about broken hearts. 

Suddenly a happy thought struck him, a thought 
which went far to restore his equanimity. These 
people, even that excellent Arthur, spoke in ig- 
norance. At the most, they — those who knew 
anything — supposed that he had a “ fancy ” for 
Janet. They had no idea that his love had been 
offered and accepted, that he was plighted to her 
by all the bonds of honour and fidelity. This ex- 
acting gratitude they harped upon might demand 
a change of nascent inclinations ; it would not re- 
quire, nor even justify, broken promises, and the 
flinging back of what a man had asked for and re- 
ceived. Dale’s step grew more elastic and his face 
brighter as he realised that, in reality, on a sane 
view of the position, duty and pleasure went hand 
in hand, both pointing to the desired goal, uniting 
to free him from any such self-sacrifice as Arthur 
Angell had indicated. If Arthur were right about 
Nellie’s feelings, and if he had been a free man, he 
might have felt some obligation on him, or at least 
have chosen, to make the child happy, but as it 
was — 

“ I must be just before I’m generous,” he said 
to himself, and added, with a shamefaced laugh, 
“And I happen to like justice best.” 

179 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


At this moment a servant in the Grange livery 
rode up, touching his hat, and handed him a note. 
It was from Janet, though her writing was so 
tremulous as to be scarcely recognisable. He tore 
it open and read — 

“ You can never wish to see me again, but 
come once more. It was not quite as bad as it 
seemed. — J.” 

In bewilderment he turned to the man. 

“ Miss Delane sent this ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Say I’ll come over to the Grange to-morrow 
morning.” 

The man rode off, and Dale stood, fingering and 
staring at his note. 

“What does the dear girl mean?” he asked. 
“What wasn’t so bad? Why don’t I wish to see 
her again ? Has that ruffian driven her out of her 
senses ? ” 

When Dr. Spink came that evening, Dale seized 
the opportunity of sounding him. The Doctor 
laughed at the idea of any serious mental derange- 
ment. 

“ Miss Delane’s very much upset, of course, very 
much, but her mind is as right as yours or mine.” 

“ She’s got no delusions ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no. She’s nervous and overstrained, 
that’s all. She’ll be all right in a few days.” 

“Then,” said Dale to himself, as the Doctor 
bustled off, “all I can say is that I don’t under- 
stand women.” 


180 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A MORBID SCRUPLE 

Mrs. Delane had ceased to struggle against the 
inevitable, and she hailed her daughter’s desire to 
see Dale Bannister as an encouraging sign of a re- 
turn to a normal state of mind. Strange as Janet’s 
demeanour had been since that fearful evening, 
there could not be anything seriously wrong with 
her, when her wishes and impulses ran in so natural 
a channel. Mrs. Delane received Dale with an ap- 
proach to enthusiasm, and sent him up to the little 
boudoir where Janet was with an affectionate haste 
which in itself almost amounted to a recognition of 
his position. 

“You must be gentle with her, please, Mr. Ban- 
nister,” she said. “ She wanted so much to see for 
herself that you were really alive, that we could not 
refuse to allow her, but the Doctor is most strict in 
ordering that she should not be excited.” 

Dale promised to be careful, and went up-stairs 
without a word about the strange note he had re- 
ceived ; that was a matter between Janet and him- 
self. 

Janet was sitting, propped up with cushions, on a 
low chair, and she waved Dale to a seat near her. 
When, before sitting down, he came to her and 
kissed her, she did not repel his caress, but received 
it silently, again motioning him to the chair. Dale 
knelt down on the floor beside her. 

181 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ How pale you are, poor dear ! ” he said. 44 And 
why do you write me such dreadful things? ” 

“ I wanted,” she began in a low voice, 44 to tell 
you, Dale, that I did try, that I really did try, to 
call out. I did not forsake you without trying.” 

44 What do you mean, darling? How have you 
forsaken me? ” 

44 When he caught hold of me, there was plenty 
of time to call out. I might have warned you — I 
might have warned you. I might have done what 
she did. But I couldn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t. 
I was afraid. He said he would blow my head to 
bits. I was afraid, and I left her to save you.” 

44 My dearest girl,” he said, taking her hand, 44 you 
did the only thing. If you had cried out, he would 
have murdered you first and me afterwards ; all the 
chambers of the revolver were loaded. I would 
have died a thousand times sooner than have one of 
your dear hairs roughened; but, as it was, your 
death wouldn’t have saved me.” 

She had looked at him for a moment as if with 
sudden hope, but, as he finished, she shook her head 
and said, 

44 1 didn’t think anything about that. I was just 
afraid, and I should have let you be killed.” 

44 My sweet, who ever expected you to condemn 
yourself to certain death on the chance of saving 
me? It would be monstrous ! ” 

44 She did it,” said Janet in low tones. 

Dale paused for a minute. 

44 She was not in his clutches,” he said. 44 He 
might have missed her. ” 

44 Ah, no, no ! ” she broke out suddenly. 44 You 
run down what she did to spare me ! That’s worst 
of all.” 


182 


A MORBID SCRUPLE 


44 Why, Jan, I don’t say a word against her; but 
there was a difference.” 

“ She thought of no difference. She only thought 
of you. I thought of my own life.” 

“ Thank God if you did, dearest ! ” 

“I’m glad you came. I wanted to tell you I 
had tried.” 

“ I need nothing to make me love you more, 
my beauty and delight,” he said, pressing her to 
him. 

She looked at him with a sort of amazement, 
making a faint effort to push him away. 

“ It was so lucky,” he went on, “ that I didn’t 
see you, or I should have rushed at him, and he 
would most likely have killed you. As it was — ” 
He paused, for it seemed impossible to speak of 
poor Nellie’s hurt as a happy outcome. 

“ Come,” he resumed, “ let’s think no more about 
it. The wretched man is dead, and Nellie Fane is 
getting better, and we — why, we, Jan, have one 
another.” 

With sudden impatience she rose, unlacing his 
arms from about her. 

44 Who is she ? ” she cried. “ Who is she ? Why 
should she give her life for you ? I loved you, and 
I was afraid. She wasn’t afraid.” 

Dale thought that he began to understand a little 
better. Jealousy was a feeling he had read about, 
and seen, and written about. If Jan were jealous, 
he could undertake to reassure her. 

44 She’s a very old and good friend of mine,” he 
said, “ and it was just like her brave, unselfish way 
to ” 

44 What had you done to make her love you 

so?” 


183 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ My sweetest Jan, surely you can’t think I ” 

“ Oh, no, no, no! I don’t mean that. I’m not 
so mean as that.” 

Dale wondered whether this passionate dis- 
claimer of jealousy did not come in part from self- 
delusion, though he saw that Janet made it in all 
genuineness. 

“You have made her love you — oh, of course 
you have ! Why did she follow you ? why did 
she come between you and the shot ? I loved you 
too, Dale. Ah ! how I loved — how I thought I 
loved you ! But her love was greater than mine.” 

“ Come, Jan, come; you exaggerate. You must 
be calm, dearest. Nellie and I are very fond of 
one another, but ” 

“ You know she loves you — you know she loves 
you to death.” 

“ My darling, I don’t know anything of the sort. 
But supposing she did — well, I am very sorry, very 
deeply grieved if she is unhappy ; but I don’t love 
her — or any other woman in the world but you, 
Jan. If she had saved my life a thousand times, 
it would make no difference. You, Jan, you are 
the breath of my life and the pulse of my blood.” 

He spoke with passion, for he was roused to 
combat this strange idea that threatened all his joy. 
As she stood before him, in her fairness and dis- 
tress, he forgot his searchings of heart, his tender- 
ness for Nellie, everything, except that she, and she 
alone, was the woman to be his, and neither another 
nor she herself should prevent it. 

Looking at him, she read this, or some of it, in 
his eyes, for she shrank back from him, and, clasp- 
ing her hands, moaned, 

“ Don’t, don’t ! You must go to her — you be- 
184 


A MORBID SCRUPLE 


long to her. She saved you, not I. You are her’s, 
not mine.” 

“ Jan, this is madness ! She is nothing to me ; 
you are all the world.” 

“ You must despise me,” she said in a wondering 
way, “ and yet you say that ! ” 

“ If I did despise you, still it would be true. But 
I worship you.” 

“ I must not! I must not! You must go to her. 
She saved you. Leave me, Dale, and go back. 
You must not come again.” 

He burst out in wrath. 

“Now, by God, I will not leave you or let you 
go ! Mine you are, and mine you shall be! ” and 
he seized her by the wrist. She gave a startled cry, 
that recalled him to gentleness. 

“ Did I frighten you, my beauty ? But it is so, 
and it must be. It is sweet of you to offer — to 
make much of what she did, and little of yourself. 
I love you more for it. But we have done with 
that now. Come to me, Jan.” 

“ I can’t ! I can’t ! She would always be be- 
tween us ; I should always see her between us. 
Oh, Dale, how can you leave her? ” 

“ I have never loved her. I have never promised 
her,” he replied sternly. “It is all a mere delu- 
sion. A man’s love is not to be turned by folly 
like this.” 

She answered nothing, and sank back in her chair 
again. 

“ If it’s jealousy,” he went on, “ it is unworthy 
of you, and an insult to me. And if it’s not jeal- 
ousy, it’s mere madness.” 

“ Can’t you understand? ” she murmured. “ How 
can I take what is hers ? ” 

13 185 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ I can take what is mine, and I will. You gave 
yourself to me, and I will not let you go.” 

Still she said nothing, and he tried gentleness 
once more. 

“ Come, Jan, sweetest, you have made your offer- 
ing — your sweet, Quixotic self-sacrifice — and it is 
not accepted ! Say that’s my want of moral alti- 
tude, if you like. So be it. I won’t sacrifice 
myself.” 

“ It’s for her to take, not for you. I offer it to 
her, not to you.” 

“But I don’t offer it to her. Would she care 
for such an offer? She may love me or not — I 
don’t know, but if she does, she will not take my 
hand without my heart.” 

“You must love her. If you could love me, 
how much more must you love her ? ” 

“ You are mad ! ” he answered, almost roughly, — 
“ mad to say such a thing ! I know you love me, 
and I will not listen to it. Do you hear ? I shall 
come back and see you again, and I will not listen 
to this.” 

She heard his imperious words with no sign but 
a little shiver. 

“ There,” he went on, “ you are still ill. I ’ll come 
back.” 

“No use,” she murmured. “ I can’t, Dale.” 

“ But you will, and you shall ! ” he cried. “ You 
shall see ” 

The door opened, and the nurse came in to for- 
bid his further lingering. With a distant good-bye, 
he left Janet motionless and pale, and, hastening 
down-stairs, went to the Squire’s room. 

“I have come,” he said abruptly, “to ask your 
sanction to my engagement with your daughter.” 

186 


A MORBID SCRUPLE 


The Squire laid down his book. 

“ I’m not much surprised,” he said, smiling. 
“ What does Jan say ? ” 

Dale launched out into a history of the sweet 
things Janet had said, and of the strange, wild things 
she said now. The Squire heard of the latter with 
raised eyebrows. 

“ Very odd,” he commented. “ But it seems, my 
dear fellow, that, for good reasons or bad, at present 
she says No.” 

“ She said Yes; she can’t say No now,” declared 
Dale. “ Do you consent, Mr. Delane ? ” 

“ If she does, my dear fellow. But I can’t help 
you in this matter.” 

“ I want no help. She is not in her senses now. 
I shall make an end of this folly. I will not have it.” 

He went out as abruptly as he had rushed in, 
leaving the Squire in some perplexity. 

“ A man of decision,” he commented ; “ and, al- 
together, a couple of rather volcanic young people. 
They must settle it between themselves.” 


187 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 

After Dale’s visit to the Grange, a few days 
elapsed in a quiet that was far from peaceful. Dale 
had gone to the Grange the next day, and the day 
after that : the sight of Janet had been denied to 
him. He was told that his visit had left her very 
agitated and upset, and the Doctor was peremptory 
in forbidding any repetition of it. He had sent her 
a note, and she had returned a verbal message by 
her mother that she did not feel equal to writing. 
Was it possible that she meant to abide by her in- 
sane resolve to break off their engagement ? 

At Littlehill, things were hardly more happy. 
Nellie was recovering, but very slowly, and she also 
remained invisible. Arthur Angell manifested all 
the symptoms of resentment and disappointed love, 
and only Philip Hume’s usual placid cheerfulness 
redeemed the house from an atmosphere of intoler- 
able depression. Philip had discovered a fund of 
amusement in the study of Mrs. Hodge. As soon 
as that good lady’s first apprehensions were soothed, 
she was seized with an immense and exuberant 
pride in her daughter, which found expression both 
in her words and her bearing. Though ignorant of 
the historical precedent, she assumed the demean- 
our of a mother of the Gracchi, and pointed out 
to all who would listen to her — and Philip never 
thought of refusing her this kindness — small inci- 
dents and traits of character which had marked out 
188 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 


Nellie from her very cradle as one of heroic mould 
and dauntless courage. 

“ I should be astonished, if I did not know her 
mother,” said Philip politely. 

“ Ah, you must be chaffing, of course. But it’s 
not me she takes it from. My heart goes pit-a-pat 
at a mouse.” 

“ Oh, then it’s Mr. Hodge.” 

“You couldn’t,” said Mrs. Hodge, with empha- 
sis, “ catch Hodge at a loss. He was ready for 
anything. He’d have been proud to see Nellie to- 
day. Look what the papers are saying of her ! ” 

“ I’m sure she deserves it all.” 

“ Ay, that she does : she deserves all Dale Ban- 
nister can do for her.” 

Philip scented danger in this topic, and changed 
the subject. 

“ When are we to see her? ” he asked. 

“ In a day or two, I expect. She’s much better 
this morning. She’s asked to see the papers, and 
I’m going to take her the Chronicle 

“ How delightful to read of one’s heroic actions ! 
I have never enjoyed the sensation.” 

“ Nor ever will, young man, if you spend all 
your time loafing,” said Mrs. Hodge incisively. 

“Well, there must be some ordinary people,” 
protested Philip. “ The role is unappreciated, so 
it’s the more creditable in me to stick to it.” 

“ A parcel of nonsense ! Where’s that paper ? ” 

She took it, went up-stairs, and gave it to Nellie. 

“ There, read that. See what they say about 
you, my dearie. I’m going to see little Roberts, 
and I shall be back in an hour. You’ve got the 
bell by you, and the nurse’ll hear you.” 

Nellie, left alone, began to read the Chronicle . 

189 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


She read the whole account from beginning to end, 
the article in praise of her, and, in the later edition, 
the editor’s romantic forecast. Then she put the 
papers aside, exclaiming, “ Oh, if it could be true ! ” 
and lay back with closed eyes. 

A few days later, she made her first appearance 
in the drawing-room, where she held a little court. 
Her mother hung over all, anticipating far more 
wants than the patient was likely to feel, and, by 
constant anxious questions, almost producing the 
fatigue she wished to guard against. Tora Smith 
was there, in a state of gleeful adoration ; and Ar- 
thur Angell, his sorrows temporarily laid aside, 
ready with a mock heroic ode ; and Philip Hume, 
new come from Mrs. Roberts’ with good news and 
a high eulogy on Dr. Spink’s most marked and 
assiduous attention. 

“ I really believe,” he said, with a laugh, “ that 
Mrs. Roberts will have another chance of being a 
Denborough doctor’s wife, if she likes.” 

“ That would be an ideal ending,” said Tora. 

“ Therefore it will not happen,” Arthur re- 
marked. 

“ Poets are allowed to be pessimistic,” rejoined 
Tora. “But you’re wrong, Mr. Angell. Ideal 
things do happen.” 

“ To Sir Harry Fulmer, for instance,” put in 
Philip. 

“Nonsense, Mr. Hume! I wasn’t thinking of 
that. Don’t you agree with me, Nellie ? ” 

“ Nellie has made an ideal thing happen,” said 
Philip, and Nellie blushed. 

“ Thanks, Phil,” said Dale. “ It’s complimen- 
tary to describe the prolongation of my poor exist- 
ence in that way.” 


190 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 


“ The deed is good, however unworthy the ob- 
ject, Dale.” 

Dale took Nellie’s hand and patted it gently. 

“ Good child,” he said, and Nellie flushed again 
with an almost strange intensity of embarrassment. 
Tora rose abruptly, and, in spite of opposition, in- 
sisted on departure. Dale escorted her to her car- 
riage. 

44 I have asked Nellie to come and stay with me,” 
said she, 44 as soon as she is well enough to move.” 

“ She will like that. I hope she is going ? ” 

44 She said,” Tora went on, speaking with em- 
phasis, 46 that she would ask you.” 

Dale made a little gesture of protest, partly 
against Nellie’s reported saying, more against the 
reporter’s inquiring gaze. He began to be aston- 
ished at the interest he was so unfortunate as to 
inspire in his affairs. 

44 I shall advise her to go,” he said. 44 1 think a 
change will be good for her.” 

44 1 incline to think so too,” said Tora, with sud- 
den coldness ; 44 but I thought you might not like 
to part with her.” 

44 Mount Pleasant is not inaccessible,” responded 
Dale, with equal coldness. Returning to the 
house, he found Nellie gone, the company dis- 
persed, and Mrs. Hodge in his smoking-room, ap- 
parently expecting him. 

44 Well, mother,” he said, — he had used to call 
her 44 mother ” when he was always running in and 
out of her house in London, — 44 Nellie looks quite 
blooming.” 

44 She’s mending nicely.” 

44 1 hear she’s to go to the Smiths’.” 

44 Well, I thought of taking her to Brighton.” 

191 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“Oh, it will be more amusing at the Smiths’; 
unless, of course, she needs the sea.” 

“She thought, or I thought rather, that you 
might like to come with us for a while? ” said Mrs. 
Hodge in a tentative tone. 

“I can’t get away,” answered Dale decisively. 
Nothing would have taken him away from the 
Grange gates. 

Mrs. Hodge took her courage in both hands. 

“ Look here, Dale,” she said. “ You know I’m 
not one of those women that lay hold of a man if 
he as much as looks at a girl, and asks him what 
he means by it. That’s not my way. Hodge 
used to say girls could take care of themselves 
mostly — p’raps he wasn’t far out. But Nellie’s 
not that sort, and her father’s gone, good man, 
and ” — and the excellent lady came to a full stop. 

Dale loved this honest old woman for long ac- 
quaintance’ sake and much kindness. He laid his 
hand on her shoulder and said, 

“ It’s a sad world, mother.” 

“The child’s fond of you, Dale. She’s shown 
that.” 

“ I’m a crossed lover too, mother. We can only 
weep together.” 

“What, you mean that Grange girl?” asked Mrs. 
Hodge, her love for her own making her tone tart. 

“Yes, that Grange girl,” answered Dale, with 
a rueful smile. “ And just at present that Grange 
girl won’t have anything to say to me.” 

Mrs. Hodge pressed his hand and whispered, 

“Don’t you tell Nellie what I say, but let her 
go, dearie, and take my girl. She’s sick for you, 
Dale, though she’d kill me if she heard me say it.” 

“ Ay, but I’m sick for the Grange girl, mother.” 

192 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 

“ You don’t take it ill of me, Dale ? But there ! 
a kind word from you is more than the doctors 
to her. She’d say nothing of what she’s done, and 
I say nothing, but she’s a good girl, and a pretty 
girl.” 

“ That she is, and she deserves a better man than 
I am.” 

“Well, there it is! Talking mends no holes,” 
said Mrs. Hodge, with a heavy sigh. Then she 
added, in an outburst of impatience, 

“ Why did you ever come to this miserable little 
place ? ” 

Dale raised inquiring hands to heaven and shrugged 
his shoulders. 

“ What they call fate, mother,” said he. “ Come, 
cheer up. She’ll get over this little idea. She’ll 
be all right.” 

“ Please God,” said Mrs. Hodge. “ It’s time for 
her beef-tea.” 

The phrase, Please God, is as a rule expressive 
of the speaker’s desire, but not of his expectation. 
So it was with Mrs. Hodge, but Dale could not 
bring himself to take so gloomy a view. A man’s 
own passion assumes a most imposing appearance 
of permanence, but he finds it easy to look with in- 
credulity on a like assumption in the feelings of 
others. He had keen sympathy for Nellie in the 
moment or the period of pain which seemed to lie 
before her, but experience told him that all prob- 
abilities were in favour of her escaping from it at 
no distant time. Love like his for Janet — and, till 
this unhappy day, he would have added, Janet’s 
for him — was exceptional ; change, recovery, ob- 
livion, — these were the rule — the happy rule whose 
operation smoothed love’s rough ways. 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


Nevertheless, be this wide philosophical view as 
just as it might, the present position came nigh to 
being intolerable, and it was hard to blame him if 
he looked forward to Nellie’s departure with relief. 
Her presence accused him of cruelty, for it seems 
cruel to refuse what would give happiness, and it in- 
creased every day it continued the misunderstanding 
which already existed as to their future relations. 
Even now, in spite of Janet’s protest, Dale was 
convinced he had detected an under-current of 
jealousy, flowing in to reinforce the stream of that 
higher, but stranger and wilder feeling which had 
made her drive him away. If she heard that Nel- 
lie remained at his house, and what conclusion was 
universally drawn from the fact, he was afraid that, 
when restored health carried away the morbid idea 
which was now most prominent, the jealousy might 
remain, and, if it did, Janet’s proud nature was 
ground on which it would bear fruit bitter for him 
to taste. 

He could not and did not for a moment blame 
Mrs. Hodge for her action. It was the natural 
outcome of her love, and she had performed her dif- 
ficult task, as it seemed to him, with a perfect ob- 
servance of all the essential marks of good-breed- 
ing, however homely her method had been. But 
she could not understand even his love for Janet, 
much less another feeling in him, which aided to 
make her intercession vain. For he did not deny 
now that, besides the joy he had in Janet as a 
woman merely, there was also the satisfaction he 
derived from the fact that she was Miss Delane of 
Dirkham Grange. Fools and would-be cynics 
might dismiss this as snobbery; but Dale told 
himself that he was right and wise in clinging to 
194 : 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 


the place in this new world which his sojourn at 
Denborough had opened to him, and which a mar- 
riage with J anet would secure for him in perpetu- 
ity. Setting aside altogether questions of senti- 
ment, he felt it useless not to recognise that, if he 
married Nellie Fane, he would drift back into his 
old world, the gates would close again, and the 
fresh realms of life and experience, which had de- 
lighted his taste and stimulated his genius, would 
be his to wander in no more. He had grown to 
love this world, this old world so new to him ; and 
he loved Janet not least because all about her, her 
face, her speech, her motions, her every air, were 
redolent to him of its assured distinction and un- 
boastful pride. Nay, even these fantastic scruples 
of hers were but a distortion of a noble instinct 
born in her blood, and witnessed to a nature and 
qualities that he could look for only in the shade 
of some such place as Dirkham Grange. He felt 
as if he too belonged to her race, and had been 
all his life an exile from his native land, whither 
at last a happy chance had led back his wander- 
ing feet. What would dear old Mother Hodge 
understand of all that? What even would Nellie 
herself, for all her ready sympathies? It was a 
feeling that, not vulgar in itself, seemed to be- 
come vulgar in the telling; and, after all, he had 
no need of other justification than his love and 
his pledged word. 

He looked out of the window and saw Arthur 
Angell walking moodily up and down. Putting 
on his hat, he joined him, passing his arm through 
his. Arthur turned to him with a petulant look. 

“ A lot of miserables we are, old boy,” said Dale, 
pressing the arm he held. “ I am often tempted 
195 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


to regret, Arthur, that the State has not charged 
itself with the control of marriages. It would re- 
lieve us all of a large amount of trouble, and I really 
don’t see that it would hurt any one except novel- 
ists. I am feeling badly in need of a benevolent 
despotism.” 

“ I’m going back to town,” Arthur announced 
abruptly. 

“ I’m very sorry. But I don’t know that it’s any 
use asking you to stay. Nellie goes to the Smiths 
in a day or two ” 

“ It makes no difference to me where she goes,” 
interrupted the unhappy young man. “ I — I 
mean ” 

“ I know what you mean.” 

Philip came up, and glanced keenly at Arthur. 
Then he smiled good-humouredly and said, 

“ Shall I prophesy unto you ? ” 

“ No,” said Arthur. “ I know you’re going to 
say it’ll be all the same six months hence.” 

“ I was. I can’t deny it, Arthur. You forget 
that I have seen you like this many times before. 
We may have a tragedy or we may not, Arthur, 
but I shall take leave to eliminate you from the 
cast.” 

“ I’m going to pack,” said Arthur angrily, and he 
went into the house. 

“ When there are real troubles about,” said Philip, 
“ it is well to clear the ground. There’s not much 
the matter with him.” 

“ I think he feels it rather, you know.” 

“ Oh yes ; it’s worth a set of verses.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it’s no worse : for, to tell you 
the truth, Phil, there’s enough to worry about with- 
out Arthur. I’m glad our party is breaking up.” 

196 


THE HEROINE OF THE INCIDENT 

“Why?” 

“We know too much about one another to live 
together comfortably.” 

“ True. Shall I go ? ” 

“ No,” said Dale, with a smile; “ you may stay 
and keep watch over the razors.” 


197 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE SCENE OF THE OUTRAGE 

The excitement and bustle which attended and fol- 
lowed on the attempted murder, the suicide, the in- 
quest, the illnesses, and the true and false reports 
concerning each and all of these incidents, had hard- 
ly subsided, before the Mayor of Market Denbor- 
ough, with the perseverance that distinguished him, 
began once more to give his attention to the royal 
visit. For reasons which will be apparent to all 
who study the manner in which one man becomes 
a knight, while another remains unhonoured, the 
Mayor was particularly anxious that the Institute 
should not lose the eclat which the Duke of Mercia 
had promised to bestow on its opening, and that 
its opening should take place during his mayoralty. 

The finger of fame pointed at Mr. Maggs the 
horse-dealer as Mr. Hedger’s successor, and the 
idea of the waters of the fountain of honour flow- 
ing on to the head of Maggs, instead of on to his 
own, spurred the Mayor to keen exertion. He had 
interviews with the Squire, he wrote to the Lord- 
Lieutenant, he promoted a petition from the bur- 
gesses, and he carried a resolution in the Town 
Council. Mr. Delane was prevailed upon to use 
his influence with the Lord- Lieutenant ; the Lord- 
Lieutenant could not, in view of Mr. Delane’s ur- 
gent appeal, refuse to lay the question before His 
Royal Highness ; and His Royal Highness was gra- 
ciously pleased to say that he could not deny him- 
198 


THE SCENE OF THE OUTRAGE 


self the pleasure of obliging Lord Cransford, know- 
ing not that he was in fact and in truth, if it may- 
be spoken without lese-majeste , merely an instru- 
ment in the clever fingers of a gentleman who, when 
the Prince was writing his reply, was rolling pills in 
the parlour behind his shop in the town of Market 
Denborough. 

Now, Colonel Smith had never concealed his 
opinion that, however much evil that unhappy man 
James Roberts had to answer for, yet he deserved 
a scrap of grateful memory, inasmuch as he had by 
his action averted the calamity that was threatening 
the town, and, furthermore, robbed Dale Bannister 
of the chance of prostituting his genius. Accord- 
ingly, when it was announced in the Standard , 
three or four weeks after James Roberts had shot 
at Dale Bannister and wounded Nellie Fane, that 
the Duke had given a conditional promise to pay 
his deferred visit in June, the Colonel laid down the 
paper and said to the rest of the breakfast-party at 
Mount Pleasant — and the Colonel must bear the 
responsibility for the terms he thought proper to 
employ — 

“ That old fool Cransford has nobbled the whip- 
persnapper again! Were to have him after all! 
Good Lord ! ” 

Tora at once appreciated his meaning. 

“ Papa means the Prince is coming, Nellie ! ” cried 
she. “ How splendid ! ” 

“ Bannister will have a chance of blacking his 
boots now,” pursued the Colonel, trying to impose 
a malignant sneer on his obstinately kindly counte- 
nance. 

“ You are not to say such things,” said Nellie em- 
phatically. “ You know you don’t mean them.” 

199 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“Not mean them? ” exclaimed the Colonel. 

“No. You’re not horrid, and it’s no use trying 
to make yourself horrid. Is it, Tora ? ” 

Tora’s thoughts were far away. 

“In June,” she said meditatively. “I hope it 
won’t be the first week, or we shall have to come 
back early.” 

The Colonel’s face expressed concentrated scorn. 

“ You would cut short your honeymoon in order 
to come back? ” 

“ Of course, dear. I wouldn’t miss it. Oh, and, 
Nellie, I shall go in next after Lady Cransford! ” 

This was too much for the Colonel ; he said noth- 
ing himself, but his joy was great when Sir Harry 
pointed out that Mrs. Hedger w T ould have official 
precedence over the new Lady Fulmer. The 
Colonel chuckled, and Tora pretended that she had 
remembered about Mrs. Hedger all the time. 

“ Johnstone will probably take you in, Tora,” said 
Sir Harry, who had lately found himself able to 
treat Tora with less fearful respect. 

“ I don’t care. I shall talk to the Prince. Now, 
Nellie, you must come down for it.” 

Nellie would not give any promise, and Tora 
forbore to press her, for she confessed to herself and 
to Sir Harry that she did not quite understand the 
position of affairs. Janet Delane remained in strict 
seclusion ; doctor’s orders were alleged, but Tora 
was inclined to be sceptical, for she had seen Janet 
out driving, and reported that she looked strong 
and well. Dale was at Littlehill, and he was there 
alone, Philip having gone back to London with 
Arthur Angell. He often came over to Mount 
Pleasant, to see Nellie, no doubt ; and when he came, 
he was most attentive and kind to her. Yet he reso- 
200 


THE SCENE OF THE OUTRAGE 


lutely refused to stay in the house, always return- 
ing in an hour or two to his solitary life at Little- 
hill. He seemed never to see Janet, and to know 
not much more about her than the rest of the world 
did. He never referred to her unquestioned, and 
when he spoke of Nellie’s share in the scene in the 
garden, he appeared pointedly to avoid discussing 
Janet’s. Tora concluded that there was some break 
in his relations with Janet, and, led on by her sym- 
pathies, had small difficulty in persuading herself 
that he was by degrees being induced by affection 
and gratitude to feel towards Nellie as everybody 
expected and wished him to feel. Only, if so, it 
was hard to see why Nellie’s pleasure in his visits 
seemed mingled with a nervousness which the in- 
creased brightness of her prospects did not allay. 
Evidently she also was puzzled by Janet’s conduct; 
and it was equally clear that she did not yet feel 
confident that Dale had renounced his fancy for 
Janet and given his heart to her. 

In after-days, Dale was wont to declare that the 
fortnight he passed alone at Littlehill was the most 
miserable in his life, and people given to improving 
the occasion would then tell him that he had no ex- 
perience of what real misery was. Yet he was very 
miserable. He was sore to the heart at Janet’s 
treatment of him ; she would neither see him, nor, 
till he absolutely insisted, write to him, and then she 
sent three words — “ It’s no use.” In face of this 
incredible delusion of hers, he felt himself helpless ; 
and the Squire, with all the good-will in the w r orld 
to him, could only shrug his shoulders and say that 
Jan was a strange girl ; while Mrs. Delane, know- 
ing nothing of the cause of her daughter’s refusal to 
see Dale, had once again begun to revive her old 
14 201 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


hopes, and allowed herself to hint at them to her 
favourite Gerard Ripley. Of course this latter fact 
was not known to Dale, but he was aware that 
Captain Ripley had called two or three times at the 
Grange, and had seen Janet once. The “ doctor’s 
orders ” applied, it seemed, to him alone ; and his 
bitterness of heart increased, mingling with grow- 
ing impatience and resentment. Nellie could never 
have acted like this : she was too kind and gentle, 
love was real in her, a mastering power, and not 
itself the plaything of fantastic scruples — unless a 
worse thing were true, unless the scruples them- 
selves were the screen of some unlooked-for and 
sudden infidelity of heart. The thought was trea- 
son, but he could not stifle it. Yet, even while it 
possessed him, while he told himself that he had now 
full right to transfer his allegiance, that no one 
could blame him, that every motive urged him, all 
the while in his inmost mind he never lost the 
knowledge that it was Janet he wanted ; and when 
he came to see Nellie, he was unable, even if he had 
been willing, — and he told himself he was, — to say 
anything but words of friendship and thanks, unable 
to frame a sentence distantly approaching the 
phrases of love he knew she longed to hear. 

Matters were in this very unsatisfactory condi- 
tion when Philip Hume returned to Littlehill, and 
straightway became the unwilling recipient of Dale’s 
troubled confidences. A fortnight’s solitude had 
been too much for Dale, and he poured out his 
perplexities, saying, with an apologetic laugh, 

“ I’m bound to tell some one. I believe, if you 
hadn’t come, I should have made a clean breast of 
it to the Mayor.” 

“ You might do worse. The Mayor is a man of 
202 


THE SCENE OF THE OUTRAGE 


sagacity. This young woman seems very un- 
reasonable.” 

“ What young woman ? ” 

“ Why, Miss Helane.” 

“Well, Phil, you must allow for the delicacy of 
her ” 

“You called it infernal nonsense yourself iust 
now.” 

“ I wish, Phil, you’d call at the Grange, and see 
her, and tell me what you think about her.” 

“ I can’t do any good, but I’ll go, if you like.” 

Accordingly, he went, and did, as he expected, 
no good at all. Janet had resumed her ordinary 
manner, with an additional touch or two of vivacity 
and loquaciousness, which betrayed the uneasiness 
they were meant to hide. The only subjects she 
discussed were the last new novel and Tora Smith’s 
wedding, and Philip took his leave, entirely unen- 
lightened. The Squire offered to walk part of the 
way with him, and they set out together. 

The Squire stopped at the scene of the disaster. 
Pointing with his toe to a spot by the side of the 
drive 

“ That’s where that mad wretch stood, holding 
my poor girl,” he said. 

Philip nodded. 

“ And where was Dale ? ” he asked, for it was his 
first visit to the spot. 

The Squire was delighted to be cicerone. 

“He was standing with his back to that tree 
yonder, about fifteen yards off, looking due north, 
towards the house, thinking of a poem or some 
nonsense, I suppose.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“Well, then,” pursued the Squire, “you see he 

203 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


was almost in a straight line with Roberts — 
Roberts’ barrel must have pointed straight towards 
Denborough church spire. After the first shot, 
Bannister sprang forward — the gravel was soft, 
and we saw every footprint — to where Miss Fane 
fell, and ” 

“ Where did she fall? ” 

The Squire’s toe indicated a spot about three 
yards from the tree. 

“ She was running up from behind Bannister, 
you know, and had just got across the line of fire, 
when the bullet caught her. She fell forward on 
her face, — she was bound to, Spink said, from the 
way she was hit, — and Bannister just got his arm 
under her, to break her fall.” 

“ She was running towards him, I suppose, to 
warn him ? ” 

“ To get between him and Roberts, like the noble 
girl she is, no doubt ; but she seemed to have turned 
round on hearing the shot, because, to judge from 
the way she was lying, she was at the moment she 
fell, heading almost south.” 

“ What, towards the house?” 

“ Yes, in a slanting line, from the tree towards 
the house.” 

“ That’s away from Bannister ? ” 

“ Yes, and from Roberts too. You see she must 
have turned. It was a fine thing. Well, I must 
get back ; I’m busy with all the preparations for 
this affair. Good-day, Mr. Hume. Very kind of 
you to come and see us.” 

“ I’m so glad to find Miss Delane better.” 

“ Yes, she’s better, thanks, but not herself yet, 
by any means. Good-day.” 

Philip went home, lit a pipe, and drew a neat lit- 
204 


THE SCENE OF THE OUTRAGE 


tie plan of the scene which had just been so care- 
fully described to him. By the time the drawing 
was made, the pipe was finished, and he was obliged 
to light another, which he consumed while he sat 
gazing at his handiwork. He was still pondering 
over it, when Dale came in, and flung himself into 
an arm-chair with a restless sigh. 

“ What’s up now ? ” asked Philip. 

“ Only that I’m the most miserable dog alive. I 
tell you what, Phil, I’m going to settle this affair 
one way or the other. I won’t be played with any 
more. I shall go up to the Grange to-morrow.” 

“You can’t — it’s Fulmer’s wedding.” 

“Hang his wedding! Well, then, next day — 
and get a definite answer from Janet. It’s too bad 
of her. Did you have any talk with her to-day? ” 

“ Only general conversation. She gave me no 
chance.” 

“ I don’t understand her, but I’ll have it settled. 
I’ve been at Mount Pleasant, and — by God, Phil, 
I can’t stand the sort of anxious, beseeching way 
Nellie looks. I know it sounds absurd to hear a 
man talk like that, but it’s a fact.” 

“ Then why do you go ? ” 

“ Well, considering what she’s done, I don’t see 
how I can very well stay away.” 

“ Oh! No, I suppose not,” said Philip, touching 
up his plan ; “ but if I were you, Dale, I should 
wait a bit before I bothered Miss Delane again. 
Give her time, man.” 

“No, I won’t. She’s not treating me fairly.” 

“ What’s that got to do with it ? You want to 
marry her, don’t you ? ” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Then give her time. Give her a week at all 
205 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


events. You can sound her at the wedding to- 
morrow, but don’t present your ultimatum.” 

And Dale agreed, on much persuasion, to give 
her a week. 

“ That’s more sensible. And, Dale, may I ask 
Arthur Angell down for a day or two ? ” 

“ Of course, but I don’t know whether he’ll 
come.” 

“ Oh, he’ll come, fast enough.” 

“ What do you want him for ? ” 

“ To consult him about a little work of mine,” 
answered Philip, regarding his sketch critically. 

“ Going to publish something ? ” 

“ I don’t know. That depends.” 

“ On the publishers? Ca va sans dire . But how 
can Arthur help you ? 99 

“ He was there.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ Now, Dale, I can understand your impatience 
— but you must wait. If I publish it, you shall see 
it.” 

“ Is it my sort ? Shall I like it ? ” 

“ I think your feelings would be mixed,” said 
Philip, delicately filling in Nellie Fane’s figure on 
the ground. 


206 


CHAPTER XXVI 


AGAINST HER BETTER JUDGMENT 

It is never well to vie with experts in their own 
subjects ; humiliation surely attends the audacious 
attempt, and a humiliation which receives and de- 
serves no softening sympathy. Moreover, even if 
the technical difficulties could be overcome, the 
description of a wedding must be either florid or 
cynical, assuming impossible happiness, or insinu- 
ating improbable catastrophe. Wherefore this 
narrative, which abhors either of these extremes, 
takes leave to resume its course at the moment 
when Sir Harry and Lady Fulmer have been 
driven away for their honeymoon, and the guests at 
Mount Pleasant are engaged in looking at one an- 
other’s presents, one another’s clothes, and their 
own watches, while a group of men have sought 
retirement and cigars in the garden. The Lord- 
Lieutenant was paying compliments of alarming 
elaboration and stateliness to Nellie Fane; and 
Janet Delane, having discharged her duty in that 
line with generous graciousness, was looking with 
despair at Captain Ripley’s puzzled face and be- 
tugged moustache, and wondering why men could 
not or would not understand plain English, and 
why — why above all — they had no more sense of 
dignity or of timeliness than to renew useless en- 
treaties in a roomful of people, and — to descend to 
the particular case — with Dale Bannister only a 
few yards away, paying obvious inattention to a 
rhapsodic bridesmaid. 


207 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Wasn’t it a pretty wedding ? ” asked the brides- 
maid. “ You know I’m a stranger to Denborough, 
and I never knew you had so many beautiful girls. 
It might have been St. Peter’s.” 

“ Might it ? ” said Dale, with an absent smile, 
entirely unappreciative of the compliment. He 
did not know what or where St. Peter’s was. 

“ Oh, it was lovely. Well, dear Tora herself is 
very pretty. And then, Miss Delane ! I do love 
that severe, statuesque style, don’t you ? How pale 
she is, though ! she doesn’t look very happy, does 
she ? Oh, and Miss Fane ! Isn’t she lovely ? She 
sings, doesn’t she ? I think people of that kind are 
so nice. Oh, and I’ve heard all about her. How 
nice it was of her to be so brave, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ Naturally, I think so.” 

“ Oh, of course, I forgot. It’s so nice when peo- 
ple are good and pretty too, isn’t it? After all, 
good looks do go for something, don’t they ? ” and 
she fixed a pair of large and unnaturally innocent 
eyes on Dale. 

“ You must tell me about that,” he said, with 
laboured politeness. “ How do you find it ? ” 

“ Oh, nonsense, Mr. Bannister ! But, seriously, 
did you ever see anything so lovely as the way Sir 
Harry looked at Tora when they were ” 

Dale had gone — without a word of excuse. He 
had seen Janet rise abruptly, with an impatient 
wave of her hand, and Captain Ripley turn on his 
heel and disappear into the eddying throng that 
was circling round the wedding presents. He darted 
across to Janet, and held out his hand. 

“ I must see you here,” he said, “ since you will 
not see me at the Grange.” 

The bridesmaid marked their greeting. She rose 
208 


AGAINST HER BETTER JUDGMENT 


with offended dignity and returned to her mother. 
She says to this day that she has only known one 
poet, and he was not at all nice, and concludes, after 
the manner of a certain part of humanity, that none 
of the rest are nice either. 

Janet looked at Dale doubtfully, then she led 
the way to a little room which was free from the 
crowd. Then she sat down. “I’m very tired,” 
she said, “and I want to stay here and rest. Will 
you let me ? ” 

“I know what you mean, Jan. How can I, 
when I never have a chance of saying what I want 
to say to you ? You talk to Ripley ” 

“ I don’t comfort Gerard Ripley much.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” said Dale heartlessly. 

“ I’m not much troubled about him. I’m only a 
habit to him.” 

“ I don’t care twopence about him. Jan, when 
is this sort of thing to end? Don’t you like seeing 
me? ” 

Janet had made up her mind to treat Dale at 
first with simple friendliness ; if this recipe failed, it 
was to be followed by distant civility. She an- 
swered collectively enough, in spite of a quiver in 
her voice, 

“ I thought I had better not see you just now.” 

“ Why, in Heaven’s name ? ” 

“ I can’t go through it all again. Indeed I can’t, 
Dale.” 

“ Do you seriously expect me to be content with 
what you said then — to go away and never come 
near you again ? ” 

Dale spoke vehemently. It was obvious that the 
distant civility would be called into play. Perhaps 
silence was Janet’s idea of it, for she said nothing. 

209 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Because that’s what it comes to,” pursued Dale. 
“ Do you imagine, Jan, I could see you now — after 
it all — except as your lover ? What do you want 
me to do ? ” 

“ Miss Fane ” — began Janet in a very small 
voice. 

“I’ll never see Nellie Fane again, if she robs 
me of you,” Dale declared, with great energy, 
and probably perfect, though unintentional, un- 
truth. 

Janet looked up and met his eyes. Then she 
dropped hers, and said, in tones quite unlike those 
of distant civility, 

“I wonder how you care for such a mean- 
spirited creature as I am. If I told you I loved 
you still — how could you believe me ? I told you 
before, and then I ” 

“ Behaved like a sensible girl.” 

“ Oh no, no. It was a lie when I said ” 

“Tell me another then,” said Dale. “I like 
them.” 

Janet’s resistance, like Bob Acres’ courage, was 
oozing out of her finger-tips. 

“ I know what it will be,” she faltered plaintively. 
“You’ll always be thinking about her, and so shall 
I — and it will be horrible. No, I won’t do it. I 
have some resolution, Dale ; it wasn’t mere non- 
sense. I did mean it.” 

“Oh, no,” said Dale persuasively; “you never 
did, Jan. You had no idea how bored you would 
be without me. Now, had you ? ” 

“ I can never respect myself again.” 

“ It’s quite unnecessary, dear; I’ll do all that.” 

“Are you really quite — quite sure, Dale, that 
you will never ” 


210 


AGAINST HER BETTER JUDGMENT 


“ Oh, hang it all ! ” said Dale, and he kissed her. 

“ Dale! the door’s open.” 

Dale shut it, and the rest of the conversation 
became inaudible, and remains unknown. 

The guests had gone. Mrs. Hodge and Nellie, 
who were to keep the Colonel company for a little 
while, had walked down to Denborough to tell 
Mrs. Roberts all about the event of the day ; and 
the Colonel was bustling about, getting the pres- 
ents packed up, and counting, with some surprise, 
the empty champagne bottles. He was thus en- 
gaged when the door of the little room opened, to 
let Janet and Dale out. 

“ Dear me ! I thought you’d gone. Nellie asked 
me, and I told her so.” 

“ I am just going, Colonel Smith,” said Janet. 

“ So am I,” said Dale. 

The Colonel watched them go together. 

“ There’s another man going to lose his daugh- 
ter,” he said. “By Jove, I thought it was to be 
Nellie Fane ! ” 

When Janet left Dale at the Grange gates, she 
went to her father’s study. 

“ Lord, child,” said the Squire, “ are you only 
just back? ” 

“ I stayed to see them off.” 

“ Your mother did that, and she’s been back two 
hours. She couldn’t find you.” 

“Papa,” said Janet, sitting on the arm of his 
chair, “ I’m very much ashamed of myself.” 

“ What have you been doing now ? Ill-treating 
that poor young man again ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ He’s not a bad fellow, you know, after all — 
honest and good — not brilliant, of course.” 

211 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Not brilliant, papa ? ” 

“ I don’t mean he’s a fool ; I believe he’s an ef- 
ficient officer ” 

“ Officer ? Why, you’re talking of Gerard ! ” 

“ Of course I am.” 

“ How can you imagine I was thinking of Ge- 
rard ? I meant Mr. Bannister.” 

“ Bannister ? Why, you told me only the other 
day ” 

“ Yes. That’s why.” 

“ Why what, child ?” 

“ Why I’m ashamed.” 

The Squire raised himself and looked severely at 
his daughter. 

“ A precious fuss you’ve made about nothing.” 

“ I can’t help it, papa. I don’t want to, but he 
insists.” 

“ He seems to know how to manage you, which 
is more than I do. There, go and tell your mother. 
And, Jan!” 

“ Yes.” 

“ If ever you say you won’t have him again ” 

“ Yes, papa.” 

“By Jove, you shan’t!” said the Squire, with 
emphasis, and he added, as his daughter fled after a 
hasty kiss, “ Perhaps that’ll keep her quiet.” 

Dale found nobody but Philip Hume to con- 
gratulate him, and Philip was, as usual now, busy 
over his little plan. 

“ Oh, she’s come round, has she?” he asked, with 
no sign of surprise. 

Dale said she had, and Philip meditatively took 
up his little plan. 

“ Have you told Nellie ? ” he asked. 

“No. I haven’t seen her.” 

212 


AGAINST HER BETTER JUDGMENT 


“ She never knew you had asked Miss Delane 
before ? ” 

“No. Nobody knew but her people and you. 
I think she had an idea I liked Jan.” 

“ Yes, but not more ? ” 

“No. I don’t think so.” 

Philip whistled gently, and twisted the little 
plan in his fingers. Dale, in his good-humour, said, 

“ Why the deuce, Phil, do you go on fidgeting 
with that thing ? You’re like an old hen over an 

egg.” 

“Yes; I don’t know that it is any good. I 
think I’ll destroy it.” 

And he tore it slowly in two, and threw it in 
the fire. 

“ The vindictive theory of punishment,” he re- 
marked, with apparent irrelevance, “does not com- 
mend itself to me. If no evil consequences exist 
to be averted, why should we punish?” and he 
pushed the plan farther into the blaze with the 
poker. 

“ If you want to argue that sort of thing, old 
fellow, you must ring for Wilson. I’m going to 
have a try at some verses.” 

“ Going to write your own epitaph, like Swift ? ” 

Dale shook his head and smiled, with the impen- 
etrable, hopeless happiness of successful love. 


213 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A VILLAIN UNMASKED 

A few days after Dale’s love-affairs had begun 
to flow in a more peaceful channel, the Mayor of 
Market Denborough had an interview with Mr. 
Philip Hume, and Philip emerged from the con- 
versation with a smile of mingled amusement and 
perplexity on his face. The Mayor had been to 
the Grange ; the Squire fully approved of the 
scheme ; a hundred pounds was subscribed already, 
and another twenty or thirty expected. Philip was 
requested to act as an intermediary, and find out 
from Miss Fane what form she would prefer that 
the testimonial which Denborough intended to offer 
to her, in recognition of her signal gallantry, should 
take. 

“ I wanted to wait and make it a wedding-pres- 
ent,” said the Mayor with a wink, “ but the Squire 
thinks we had better not wait for that.” 

“ Ah, does he ? ” said Philip. 

“ Though what Mr. Bannister’s waitin’ for, I 
can’t see; and I said as much to Miss Janet when 
I met her in the garden.” 

“ What did she say ?” asked Philip in some cu- 
riosity. 

“ W ell, sir, now you ask me, 1 don’t think she 
said anything. She seemed a bit put-out like about 
something.” 

“ It couldn’t have been anything you said? ” 

“ Why, no, sir. I only said as I shouldn’t be 
214 


A VILLAIN UNMASKED 


slow to move if a young lady like Miss Fane was 
waitin’ for me — and her havin’ saved my life too.” 

“ Good Lord !” 

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir? ” 

“Nothing, Mr. Mayor, nothing.” 

“You’ll see Miss Fane about it? She hasn’t 
left the Colonel’s.” 

“ Oh yes, I suppose so. Yes, I’ll see her.” 

Dale had gone to London, alleging that he had 
shopping to do, and hardly denying that his busi- 
ness would lie chiefly at the jeweller’s. Philip was 
glad that he was away, for he thus could start on 
his mission unquestioned. He found Nellie at 
home, and at once plunged into the matter. Di- 
rectly Nellie understood what was proposed, she 
jumped up, crying, 

“ Oh no, they mustn’t ! You must stop them.” 

“ Why, it’s a very natural tribute ” 

“ I won’t have it! I can’t have it! You must 
tell them, Mr. Hume.” 

“ It’ll look rather ungracious, won’t it ? Why 
shouldn’t you take their present ? ” he asked, look- 
ing at her in a half- amused way. 

“ Oh no, no ! You don’t understand. Oh, what 
a wretched girl lam!” and Nellie, flinging herself 
in a chair, began to cry. 

He sat and watched her with a grim smile, which 
he made an effort to maintain. But the sobs were 
rather piteous, and the smile gradually became very 
mildly ferocious, and presently vanished altogether. 
Presently, also, Nellie stopped crying, sat up, and 
stared in front of her with a dazed look and parted 
lips. 

“ Well ? ” said Philip. 

“ I won’t receive the testimonial.” 

215 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


“ Is that all you have to say ? ” he asked in a tone 
of disappointment. 

“ Yes,” she answered, plucking nervously at her 
handkerchief, “ that’s all.” 

“No reason to give ? ” 

“ Tell them that there’s nothing to give me a tes- 
timonial for.” 

“ Shall I ? ” he asked. 

Nellie glanced at him with a start, but in an in- 
stant she recovered herself. 

“ I mean that I would much rather no more fuss 
was made about what I did.” 

“ As you please,” he said coldly. “ I will tell the 
Mayor, and get him to stop the thing.” 

“ Is Dale at home ? ” she asked, as Philip rose. 

“ He’s gone to town. Do you want to see him 
about anything ? ” 

“No — nothing in particular — only — I haven’t 
seen him for three or four days.” 

“ Are you staying here long ? ” 

“ I am staying till Tora comes home, and then I 
go to her.” 

“ Well, good-bye. I’ll tell the Mayor.” 

“ Thank you so much. Good-bye.” 

She was quite calm again by now; her sudden 
fit of agitation was over, and apparently she felt 
nothing more than a distaste for the parade of a 
public presentation. So easy and natural had her 
bearing become, that Philip Hume, as he walked 
away, wondered if he had been on a wrong scent 
after all. If so, he had behaved in a very brutal 

He broke off his thoughts abruptly, to recognise 
and bow to Janet Delane, who whirled by in her 
victoria, on the way to Mount Pleasant. She 
seemed to be going to pay a visit to Nellie Fane. 

216 


A VILLAIN UNMASKED 


Philip, who liked to hear how things happen, re- 
gretted that he had cut his own visit short and 
missed Janet’s entry. 

Janet whirled on. Her balance of mind, deli- 
cately poised between her love and her pride, had 
suffered a new and severe shock from the Mayor’s 
jocose remarks. She could not rest. She felt that 
she must see for herself — must see Nellie and find 
out why everybody thought what they did — yes, 
and what Nellie thought. She was full of things 
which she had to say to Nellie; she was prepared, 
if need be, again to sacrifice herself for Nellie, but 
the truth about it all at least she was determined 
to hear ; on what it was, Dale’s uncertain happiness 
again hung suspended. With her usual frankness 
and candour, she straightway began to tell Nellie 
all her story. Nellie listened in almost stony 
stillness. 

“ It’s so hard to speak of,” said Janet; “ but yet 
I think we must. It is wretched to let things go 
on like this. At least, I am wretched, and I fear 
he is, and ” 

“ I’m sure I am,” said Nellie, with a forlorn 
laugh. 

Janet came and knelt by her and took her 
hands. 

“ You too ? you whom we all admire so ? Oh, 
what a world it is ! Why did I ever love him ? ” 

“ Ah, you do love him ? ” 

“ Yes. And why did I ever make him love me ? 
Ah, Nellie, if only ” 

Nellie had sprung up. 

“ How do you know he loves you ? ” she cried. 

“ How do I know, dear ? Why, he told me.” 

“ When ? when ? ” 

15 


217 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


44 Why, before— the day before it all happened. 
But since then I have felt, and I told him, that he 
belonged to you — I mean, dear, that it must be you 

now whom he must really love, and that I ” 

Nellie was not listening. 

44 He told you before ? ” she asked in a low 
voice. 

44 Yes, the day before. But afterwards ” 

“ You were actually engaged then ? ” 

44 Yes, we were.” 

44 1 never knew it. I didn’t know that. Oh, 
how wicked I have been ! ” 

44 Wicked ? What do you mean ? ” asked Janet, 
puzzled at her companion’s strange behaviour. 
Nellie stood silent, and Janet went on, 

44 But I feel, I can’t help feeling that it is to you 

he owes his life — to you ” 

44 Be quiet ! ” cried Nellie. 44 Are you engaged 
now? ” 

44 1 — I don’t know.” 

44 Does he still love you ? ” 

44 Yes, I think so.” 

44 Why didn’t you tell me ? Why did you keep 
me in the dark ? Why did you tempt me ? ” 

44 Indeed, I don’t understand.” 

44 1 didn’t know he had told you. I only thought 
he had a fancy — Oh, and I loved him too ! I 
did indeed ! ” 

44 1 know, dear,” said Janet; 44 and so, when you 

had been so brave, and I so cowardly ” 

44 Stop ! ” cried Nellie again, and as she spoke, 
the door opened and Dale Bannister came in. He 
was fresh back from London, and had ridden over 
to see Nellie. 

He stood and looked in surprise from one to the 
218 


A VILLAIN UNMASKED 


other. There was evidently something more than 
an afternoon call going on. 

Nellie greeted his coming almost gladly. 

“ Ah, you are here ? Then I can tell you. I 
can’t bear it any longer. Oh, Dale, I didn’t know 
you had told her. Indeed I didn’t, or I would 
never have done it ; ” and, carried away by her emo- 
tion, she fell on her knees before him. 

“ Why, Nellie, what in the world’s the mak 
ter?” 

“ I have been wicked,” she went on quickly, 
clinging to his hand. “ I have deceived you. I 
have told you lies. Oh, how wicked I have 
been ! ” 

Dale looked inquiringly at Janet, but she shook 
her head in bewilderment. 

“ Well, Nellie, let’s sit down quietly and hear the 
villainy. What is it ? ” 

She refused to let him raise her, and went on, as 
she was, on her knees. 

“ I didn’t mean it at first. I didn’t think of it, 
but when I found you all thought it, and — and you 
were pleased, Dale, I couldn’t help it.” 

Dale saw the only chance of arriving at the truth 
was not to interrupt. He signed to Janet to keep 
silence. 

“ I came up meaning to warn you. I was afraid 
for you. I saw you standing by the tree, and I was 
running towards you, and all of a sudden, I saw him, 
and the pistol, and ” 

She paused and drooped her head. Dale pressed 
her hand and said, 

“ Well, Nellie?” 

“ I was afraid,” she said, “ and I turned and be- 
gan to run away, and as I was running, it hit me.” 

219 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


And, her confession ended, she sank into a little 
woebegone heap on the floor at his feet. 

Dale understood now. She had been tempted 
by the hope of winning his love through his grati- 
tude, and had not refused the false glory they all 
thrust upon her. Now she had heard her hopes 
were vain, that they had been vain even before 
that night, and in the misery of sin, and useless 
sin, she lay crying at his feet, not daring to look 
up at him. 

He stood there awkwardly, as a man stands 
when he feels more moved than he allows himself 
to show. 

“ Poor child ! ” he said, with a break in his voice. 
“ Poor child ! ” 

Janet caught him by the arm. 

“What does she say? That she didn’t save 
you ? ” she whispered eagerly. “ That she was 
running away? ” 

Dale nodded, and Janet fell down beside Nellie, 
embracing her, and saying, half-laughing, half- 
crying, “ Oh, Nellie, how sweet, how sweet of you 
to have been a coward too ! ” 


220 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A VISION 

The lawn at Dirkham Grange was a gay scene. 
The Institute was opened, the luncheon consumed, 
the Royal Duke gone, full to the last of gracious- 
ness, though the poor fellow was hungry for soli- 
tude and cigars ; and now the society of the county 
was unbending in friendly condescension to the so- 
ciety of the town, and talking the whole thing over 
under the trees and beside the bright flower-beds. 
Lord Cransford, between Janet and Dale, mingled 
praises of the ode with congratulations on the en- 
gagement ; no one would have guessed that he 
shared a son’s disappointment. The Mayor in- 
differently dissembled his exultation over the whis- 
per of a knighthood which a hint from His Royal 
Highness had set running through the company. 
Mrs. Johnstone sat placidly in an arm-chair, the 
ruby velvet spread in careful folds, while Sir Harry 
Fulmer paid her compliments, and wondered where 
his wife was, and how soon they might go ; and 
his wife walked with the Squire, declaring in her 
impetuous way that Nellie Fane’s deceit was the 
most beautiful and touching thing she had ever 
heard of, whereat the Squire tugged his whisker, 
and said that nobody was disposed to be hard on 
her. Mrs. Roberts had made her first public ap- 
pearance, diligently attended by Dr. Spink, who 
said, but was disbelieved in saying, that she still 
needed constant care. Nellie Fane herself had 
been persuaded to come, on a promise that the 
221 


A CHANGE OF AIR 


Mayor should not be allowed to reopen the sub- 
ject of the testimonial ; and Arthur Angell, in 
whose breast hope was once more a sojourner, had 
led her to a retired walk, and was reading to her a 
set of verses, called “Love’s Crime;” and Nellie 
shook her head, saying that there was no induce- 
ment to be good, if every one conspired to pet and 
pamper the wicked. 

Philip Hume sat alone under a spreading tree, 
looking on, and talking to nobody. The bustle of 
the morning and the sumptuous midday meal 
worked together with the warm afternoon air and 
the distant sounds of the yeomanry band to make 
him a little drowsy, and he watched the people 
walking to and fro and heard their chatter in a 
half- wakeful, half-sleeping state. And, strange as 
it seems in this work-a-day sceptical age, he fell 
into a sort of trance, and visions of what should be 
were vouchsafed to him, and if the visions were not 
true, at least they had a look of truth. 

He saw a man, handsome still, for all that his 
thick hair was a little thinned by time and his 
waistcoat was broadening, and the man read in a 
mellow voice lines which Philip did not hear very 
plainly, about the greatness of England, the glory 
of the Throne, and the calmer judgment of circling 
years tempering the heat of youth. Then a stately 
dame touched him gently on the shoulder, saying 
that the verses were magnificent, but the carriage 
waited to take him to the levee ; and he rose to go 
with a smile, not seeming to notice a pale ghost, 
that clenched impotent shadowy hands in wrath 
and with a scowl shrank away. Suddenly, across 
this vision, came the form of Mrs. Hodge, white- 
haired, but cheerful and buxom as of yore, and she 
222 


A VISION 


said, “ Well, Hume, she’s made Arthur a happy 
man at last ; ” and the Mayor, who somehow hap- 
pened to be there, wearing on his breast a large 
placard, inscribed “ Sir James Hedger, Knight,” 
added, quite in his old way, “We were all 
wrong, Mr. Hume, sir, except you, sir, beggin’ 
your pardon.” Then the Squire’s voice broke in, 
as though in the course of an argument, and de- 
clared that it was nonsense to attribute Dale’s 
change of views to anything except growing 
wisdom ; and the phantom of Colonel Smith, a 
copy of The Clarion in his hand, answered 
“ Bosh ! ” And a crowd of quite indistinguish- 
able well-dressed shades gathered round the Colo- 
nel, and Philip heard them talking about the in- 
evitable gravitation of culture and intelligence. 
But the Colonel still answered “ Bosh ! ” and 
Philip did not hear the end of the matter, nor 
where the truth of it lay; for presently all the 
forms passed away, and he saw a little room, a 
little dingy room, and a grey-haired slouching 
fellow in an old coat, smoking an old pipe and 
scribbling on foolscap, scribbling away far into the 
night, and then sitting and musing for a solitary half- 
hour in front of his dying fire before he went to bed. 
There was something in this figure that made Philip 
curious, and he went nearer and looked. Hush ! It 
was himself, and — 

He awoke with a start. Dale was smiling down 
on him with his old friendly smile, and saying to 
Janet Delane, 

“We shall never let this old chap leave us for 
long, shall we, Jan ? ” 


223 











A MAN OF MARK 




I 


A MAN OF MARK 


CHAPTER I 

THE MOVEMENT AND THE MAN 

In the year 1884 the Republic of Aureataland was 
certainly not in a flourishing condition. Although 
most happily situated (it lies on the coast of South 
America, rather to the north — I mustn’t be more 
definite), and gifted with an extensive territory, 
nearly as big as Yorkshire, it had yet failed to make 
that material progress which had been hoped by its 
founders. It is true that the state was still in its 
infancy, being an offshoot from another and larger 
realm, and having obtained the boon of freedom 
and self-government only as recently as 1871, after 
a series of political convulsions of a violent charac- 
ter, which may be studied with advantage in the 
well-known history of “ The Making of Aureata- 
land,” by a learned professor of the Jeremiah P. 
Jecks University in the United States of America. 
This profound historian is, beyond all question, ac- 
curate in attributing the chief share in the national 
movement to the energy and ability of the first 
President of Aureataland, his Excellency, President 
Marcus W. Whittingham, a native of Virginia. 
Having enjoyed a personal friendship (not, unhap- 
pily, extended to public affairs) with that talented 
man, as will subsequently appear, I have great 
pleasure in publicly indorsing the professor’s eulo- 
l 


A MAN OF MARK 


gium. Not only did the President bring Aureata- 
land into being, but he moulded her whole consti- 
tution. “It was his genius” (as the professor 
observes with propriety) “ which was fired with the 
idea of creating a truly modern state, instinct with 
the progressive spirit of the Anglo-Saxon race. It 
was his genius which cast aside the worn-out tra- 
ditions of European dominion, and taught his fel- 
low-citizens that they were, if not all by birth, yet 
one and all by adoption, the sons of freedom.” Any 
mistakes in the execution of this fine conception 
must be set down to the fact that the President’s 
great powers were rather the happy gift of nature 
than the result of culture. To this truth he was 
himself in no way blind, and he was accustomed to 
attribute his want of a liberal education to the 
social ruin brought upon his family by the Ameri- 
can Civil War, and to the dislocation thereby pro- 
duced in his studies. As the President was, when 
I had the honour of making his acquaintance in the 
year 1880 , fifty years old if he was a day, this ex- 
planation hardly agrees with dates, unless it is to be 
supposed that the President was still pursuing his 
education when the war began, being then of the 
age of thirty-five or thereabouts. 

Starting under the auspices of such a gifted leader, 
and imbued with so noble a zeal for progress, Au- 
reataland was, at the beginning of her history as a 
nation, the object of many fond and proud hopes. 
But in spite of the blaze of glory in which her sun 
had risen (to be seen duly reflected in the professor’s 
work), her prosperity, as I have said, was not main- 
tained. The country was well suited for agricul- 
ture and grazing, but the population — a very queer 
mixture of races — was indolent, and more given to 
2 


THE MOVEMENT AND THE MAN 


keeping holidays and festivals than to honest labour. 
Most of them were unintelligent; those who were 
intelligent made their living out of those who 
weren’t, a method of subsistence satisfactory to the 
individual, but adding little to the aggregate of na- 
tional wealth. Only two classes made fortunes of 
any size, Government officials and bar-keepers, and 
even in their case the wealth was not great, looked 
at by an English or American standard. Produc- 
tion was slack, invention at a standstill, and taxa- 
tion heavy. I suppose the President’s talents were 
more adapted to founding a state in the shock and 
turmoil of war, than to the dull details of adminis- 
tration ; and although he was nominally assisted by 
a cabinet of three ministers and an assembly com- 
prising twenty-five members, it was on his shoul- 
ders that the real work of government fell. On 
him, therefore, the moral responsibility must also 
rest — a burden the President bore with a cheer- 
fulness and equanimity almost amounting to un- 
consciousness. 

I first set foot in Aureataland in March, 1880 , 
when I was landed on the beach by a boat from the 
steamer, at the capital town of Whittingham. I 
was a young man, entering on my twenty-sixth 
year, and full of pride at finding myself at so early 
an age sent out to fill the responsible position of 
manager at our Aureataland branch. The direct- 
ors of the bank were then pursuing what may with- 
out unfairness be called an adventurous policy, and, 
in response to the urgent entreaties and glowing 
exhortations of the President, they had decided on 
establishing a branch at Whittingham. I com- 
manded a certain amount of interest on the board, 
inasmuch as the chairman owed my father a sum 
3 


A MAN OF MARK 


of money, too small to mention but too large to 
pay, and when, led by the youthful itch for novelty, 
I applied for the post I succeeded in obtaining my 
wish, at a salary of a hundred dollars a month. I 
am sorry to say that in the course of a later business 
dealing the balance of obligation shifted from the 
chairman to my father, an unhappy event which 
deprived me of my hold on the company and seri- 
ously influenced my conduct in later days. When 
I arrived in Aureataland the bank had been open 
some six months, under the guidance of Mr. Thomas 
Jones, a steady-going old clerk, who was in future 
to act as chief (and indeed only) cashier under my 
orders. 

I found Whittingham a pleasant little city of 
about five thousand inhabitants, picturesquely sit- 
uated on a fine bay, at the spot where the river 
Marcus debouched into the ocean. The town was 
largely composed of Government buildings and 
hotels, but there was a street of shops of no mean 
order, and a handsome square, called the “ Piazza 
1871,” embellished with an equestrian statue of 
the President. Round about this national monu- 
ment were a large number of seats, and, hard by, 
a cafe and band stand. Here, I soon found, was 
the centre of life in the afternoons and evenings. 
Going along a fine avenue of trees for half a mile 
or so, you came to the “ 4 Golden House,” the 
President’s official residence, an imposing villa of 
white stone with a gilt statue of Aureataland, a 
female figure sitting on a plowshare, and holding a 
sword in the right hand, and a cornucopia in the 
left. By her feet lay what was apparently a badly 
planed cannon ball ; this, I learned, was a nugget, 
and from its presence and the name of the palace. 


THE MOVEMENT AND THE MAN 


I gathered that the president had once hoped to 
base the prosperity of his young republic on the 
solid foundation of mineral wealth. This hope had 
been long abandoned. 

I have always hated hotels, so I lost no time in 
looking round for lodgings suitable to my means, 
and was fortunate enough to obtain a couple of 
rooms in the house occupied by a Catholic priest, 
Father Jacques Bonchretien. He was a very good 
fellow, and, though we did not become intimate, I 
could always rely on his courtesy and friendly ser- 
vices. Here I lived in great comfort at an expense 
of fifty dollars a month, and I soon found that my 
spare fifty made me a well-to-do man in Whitting- 
ham. Accordingly I had the entree of all the best 
houses, including the Golden House, and a very 
pleasant little society we had ; occasional dances, fre- 
quent dinners, and plenty of lawn tennis and bill- 
iards prevented me feeling the tedium I had some- 
what feared, and the young ladies of Whittingham 
did their best to solace my exile. As for business, 
I found the bank doing a small business, but a toler- 
ably satisfactory one, and, if we made some bad 
debts, we got high interest on the good ones, so 
that, one way or another, I managed to send home 
pretty satisfactory reports, and time passed on 
quietly enough in spite of certain manifestations of 
discontent among the population. These disturb- 
ing phenomena were first brought prominently to 
my notice at the time when I became involved in 
the fortunes of the Aureataland national debt, and 
as all my story turns on this incident, it perhaps is a 
fit subject for a new chapter. 


5 


CHAPTER II 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 

When our branch was established at Whittingharn 
there had been an arrangement made between our- 
selves and the Government, by the terms of which 
we were to have the Government business, and to 
occupy, in fact, much that quasi-official position 
enjoyed by the Bank of England at home. As a 
quid pro quo , the bank was to lend to the Republic 
the sum of five hundred thousand dollars, at six 
per cent. The President was at the time floating 
a loan of one million dollars for the purpose of 
works at the harbour of Whittingharn. This astute 
ruler had, it seemed, hit on the plan of instituting 
public works on a large scale as a corrective to pop- 
ular discontent, hoping thereby not only to develop 
trade, but also to give employment to many persons 
who, if unoccupied, became centres of agitation. 
Such at least was the official account of his policy ; 
whether it was the true one I saw reason to doubt 
later on. As regards this loan, my office was purely 
ministerial. The arrangements were duly made, 
the proper guarantees given, and in June, 1880 , I 
had the pleasure of handing over to the President 
the five hundred thousand dollars. I learned from 
him on that occasion that, to his great gratification, 
the balance of the loan had been taken up. 

“We shall make a start at once, sir,” said the 
President, in his usual confident but quiet way. 
“ In two years Whittingharn harbour will walk over 
6 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 


the world. Don’t be afraid about your interest. 
Your directors never made a better investment.” 

I thanked his Excellency, accepted a cigar, and 
withdrew with a peaceful mind. I had no responsi- 
bility in the matter, and cared nothing whether the 
directors got their interest or not. I was, however, 
somewhat curious to know who had taken up the 
rest of the loan, a curiosity which was not destined 
to be satisfied for some time. 

The works were begun and the interest was paid, 
but I cannot say that the harbour progressed rapidly; 
in fact, I doubt if more than one hundred thousand 
dollars ever found their way into the pockets of 
contractors or workmen over the job. The Presi- 
dent had some holes dug and some walls built; 
having reached that point, about two years after the 
interview above recorded he suddenly drew off the 
few labourers still employed, and matters came to a 
dead stop. 

It was shortly after this occurrence that I was 
honoured with an invitation to dine at the Golden 
House. It was in the month of July, 1882 . Need- 
less to say, I accepted the invitation, not only be- 
cause it was in the nature of a command, but also 
because the President gave uncommonly good din- 
ners, and, although a bachelor (in Aureataland, at 
all events), had as well ordered a household as I 
have ever known. My gratification was greatly in- 
creased when, on my arrival, I found myself the 
only guest, and realised that the President consid- 
ered my society in itself enough for an evening’s 
entertainment. It did cross my mind that this 
might mean business, and I thought it none the 
worse for that. 

We dined in the famous veranda, the scene of so 
16 7 


A MAN OF MARK 


many brilliant Whittingham functions. The din- 
ner was beyond reproach, the wines perfection. 
The President was a charming companion. Though 
not, as I have hinted, a man of much education, he 
had had a wide experience of life, and had picked 
up a manner at once quiet and cordial, which set 
me completely at my ease. Moreover, he paid me 
the compliment, always so sweet to youth, of 
treating me as a man of the world. With conde- 
scending confidence he told me many tales of his 
earlier days ; and as he had been everywhere and 
done everything where and which a man ought 
not to be and do, his conversation was naturally 
most interesting. 

“ I am not holding myself up as an example,” he 
said, after one of his most unusual anecdotes. “ I 
can only hope that my public services will be allowed 
to weigh in the balance against my private frail- 
ties.” 

He said this with some emotion. 

“ Even your Excellency,” said I, “ may be con- 
tent to claim in that respect the same indulgence 
as Ceesar and Henri Quatre.” 

“ Quite so,” said the President. “ I suppose they 
were not exactly — eh? ” 

“ I believe not,” I answered, admiring the Presi- 
dent’s readiness, for he certainly had a very dim no- 
tion who either of them was. 

Dinner was over and the table cleared before the 
President seemed inclined for serious conversation. 
Then he called for cigars, and pushing them toward 
me said : 

“ Take one, and fill your glass. Don’t believe 
people who tell you not to drink and smoke at the 
same time. Wine is better without smoke, and 

8 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 


smoke is better without wine, but the combination 
is better than either separately.” 

I obeyed his commands, and we sat smoking and 
sipping in silence for some moments. Then the 
President said, suddenly : 

“ Mr. Martin, this country is in a perilous con- 
dition.” 

“ Good God, your Excellency ! ” said I, “ do you 
refer to the earthquake? ” (There had been a slight 
shock a few days before.) 

“No, sir,” he replied, “to the finances. The 
harbour works have proved far more expensive than 
I anticipated. I hold in my hand the engineer’s 
certificate that nine hundred and three thousand 
dollars have been actually expended on them, and 
they are not finished — not by any means fin- 
ished.” 

They certainly were not ; they were hardly be- 
gun. 

“Dear me,” I ventured to say, “that seems a 
good deal of money, considering what there is to 
show for it.” 

“ You cannot doubt the certificate, Mr. Martin,” 
said the President. 

I did doubt the certificate, and should have liked 
to ask what fee the engineer had received. But I 
hastily said it was, of course, beyond suspicion. 

“ Yes,” said he steadily, “ quite beyond suspicion. 
Y ou see, Mr. Martin, in my position I am compelled 
to be liberal. The Government cannot set other 
employers the example of grinding men down by 
low wages. However, reasons apart, there is the 
fact. We cannot go on without more money; and 
I may tell you, in confidence, that the political 
situation makes it imperative we should go on. 

9 


A MAN OF MARK 


Not only is my personal honour pledged, but the 
Opposition, Mr. Martin, led by the colonel, is 
making itself obnoxious — yes, I may say very ob- 
noxious.” 

“ The colonel, sir,” said I, with a freedom engen- 
dered of dining, “ is a beast.” 

“ Well,” said the President, with a tolerant smile, 
“ the colonel, unhappily for the country, is no true 
patriot. But he is powerful ; he is rich ; he is, un- 
der myself alone, in command of the army. And, 
moreover, I believe he stands well with the signorina. 
The situation, in fact, is desperate. I must have 
money, Mr. Martin. Will your directors make me 
a new loan ? ” 

I knew very well the fate that would attend any 
such application. The directors were already de- 
cidedly uneasy about their first loan ; shareholders 
had asked awkward questions, and the chairman 
had found no small difficulty in showing that the 
investment was likely to prove either safe or re- 
munerative. Again, only a fortnight before, the 
Government had made a formal application to me 
on the same subject. I cabled the directors, and 
received a prompt reply in the single word “ Toot- 
sums,” which in our code meant, “ Must absolutely 
and finally decline to entertain any applications.” 
I communicated the contents of the cable to Senor 
Don Antonio de la Casabianca, the Minister of 
Finance, who had, of course, communicated them 
in turn to the President. 

I ventured to remind his Excellency of these 
facts. He heard me with silent attention. 

“I fear,” I concluded, “therefore, that it is im- 
possible for me to be of any assistance to your 
Excellency.” 


10 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 


He nodded, and gave a slight sigh. Then, with 
an air of closing the subject, he said: 

“ I suppose the directors are past reason. Help 
yourself to a brandy and soda.” 

“ Allow me to mix one for you, sir,” I an- 
swered. 

While 1 was preparing our beverages he re- 
mained silent. When I had sat down again he 
said : 

“ You occupy a very responsible position here 
for so young a man, Mr. Martin — not beyond your 
merits, I am sure.” 

I bowed. 

“ They leave you a pretty free hand, don’t 
they ? ” 

I replied that as far as routine business went I 
did much as seemed good in my own eyes. 

“ Routine business ? including investments, for 
instance ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” said I; “investments in the ordinary 
course of business — discounting bills and putting 
money out on loan and mortgage over here. I 
place the money, and merely notify the people at 
home of what I have done.” 

“ A most proper confidence to repose in you,” 
the President was good enough to say. “ Confi- 
dence is the life of business ; you must trust a man. 
It would be absurd to make you send home the 
bills, and deeds, and certificate, and what not. Of 
course they wouldn’t do that.” 

Though this was a statement, somehow it also 
sounded like a question, so I answered : 

“Asa rule they do me the compliment of taking 
my word. The fact is, they are, as your Excel- 
lency says, obliged to trust somebody.” 

ll 


A MAN OF MARK 


“Exactly as I thought. And you sometimes 
have large sums to place ? ” 

At this point, notwithstanding my respect for the 
President, I began to smell a rat. 

“ Oh, no, sir,” I replied, “ usually very small. 
Our business is not so extensive as we could 
wish.” 

“ Whatever,” said the President, looking me 
straight in the face, 6 ‘whatever may be usual, at 
this moment you have a large sum — a very respect- 
able sum — of money in your safe at the bank, wait- 
ing for investment.” 

“ How the devil do you know that ? ” I cried. 

“ Mr. Martin ! It is no doubt my fault ; I am 
too prone to ignore etiquette ; but you forget your- 
self.” 

I hastened to apologise, although I was pretty 
certain the President was contemplating a queer 
transaction, if not flat burglary. 

“Ten thousand pardons, your Excellency, for 
my most unbecoming tone, but may I ask how you 
became possessed of this information ? ” 

“ Jones told me,” he said simply. 

As it would not have been polite to express the 
surprise I felt at Jones’ simplicity in choosing such 
a confidant , I held my peace. 

“ Yes,” continued the President, “ owing to the 
recent sales of your real property in this country 
(sales due, I fear, to a want of confidence in my ad- 
ministration), you have at this moment a sum of 
three hundred thousand dollars in the bank safe. 
Now (don’t interrupt me, please), the experience of 
a busy life teaches me that commercial reputation 
and probity depend on results, not on methods. 
Your directors have a prejudice against me and my 
12 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 


Government. That prejudice you, with your 
superior opportunities for judgment, cannot share. 
You will serve your employers best by doing for 
them what they haven’t the sense and courage to 
do for themselves. I propose that you should as- 
sume the responsibility of lending me this money. 
The transaction will redound to the profit of the 
bank. It shall also,” he added slowly, “ redound 
to your profit.” 

I began to see my way. But there were diffi- 
culties. 

44 What am I to tell the directors ? ” I asked. 

44 You will make the usual return of investments 
and debts outstanding, mortgages, loans on ap- 
proved security — but you know better than I do.” 

44 False returns, your Excellency means ? ” 

44 They will no doubt be formally inaccurate,” the 
President admitted. 

44 What if they ask for proofs ? ” said I. 

44 Sufficient unto the day,” said the President. 

44 You have rather surprised me, sir,” I said, 
44 but I am most anxious to oblige you, and to for- 
ward the welfare of Aureataland. There are, how- 
ever, two points which occur to me. First, how am 
I to be insured against not getting my interest? 
That I must have.” 

44 Quite so,” he interrupted. 44 And the second 
point I can anticipate. It is, what token of my 
gratitude for your timely assistance can I prevail 
on you to accept ? ” 

44 Your Excellency’s knowledge of human nature 
is surprising.” 

44 Kindly give me your attention, Mr. Martin, 
and I will try to satisfy both your very reasonable 
requirements. You have $300,000; those you will 
13 


A MAN OF MARK 


hand over to me, receiving in return Government 
six per cent, bonds for that amount. I will then 
hand back to you $65,000 ; 45,000 you will retain 
as security for your interest. In the event of any 
failure on the part of Aureataland to meet her obli- 
gations honourably, you will pay the interest on the 
whole 300,000 out of that sum. That secures you 
for more than two years against absolute failure of 
interest, which in reality you need not fear. Till 
the money is wanted you will have the use of it. 
The remaining 20,000 I shall beg of you to accept 
as your commission, or rather as a token of my 
esteem. Two hundred thousand absolutely — 
45,000 as long as Aureataland pays interest! You 
must admit I deal with you as one gentleman with 
another, Mr. Martin. In the result, your directors 
get their interest, I get my loan, you get your 
bonus. W e are all benefited ; no one is hurt ! All 
this is affected at the cost of a harmless stratagem.” 

I was full of admiration. The scheme was very 
neat, and, as far as the President and myself were 
concerned, he had been no more than just in point- 
ing out its advantages. As for the directors, they 
would probably get their interest ; anyhow, they 
would get it for two years. There was risk, of 
course. A demand for evidence of my alleged in- 
vestments, or a sudden order to realise a heavy 
sum at short notice, would bring the house about 
my ears. But I did not anticipate this contretemps , 
and at the worst I had my twenty thousand dollars 
and could make myself scarce therewith. These 
calculations were quite correct at the moment, but 
I upset them afterward by spending the dollars 
and by contracting a tie which made flight from 
Aureataland a distasteful alternative. 

14 


A FINANCIAL EXPEDIENT 


4 ‘Well, Mr. Martin,” said the President, “do 
you agree ? ” 

I still hesitated. Was it a moral scruple ? Prob- 
ably not, unless, indeed, prudence and morality are 
the same thing. 

The President rose and put his hand on my 
shoulder. 

“ Better say yes. I might take it, you know, 
and cause you to disappear — believe me, with re- 
luctance, Mr. Martin. It is true I shouldn’t like 
this course. It would perhaps make my position 
here untenable. But not having the money would 
certainly make it untenable.” 

I saw the force of this argument, and gulping 
down my brandy and soda, I said : 

“ I can refuse your Excellency nothing.” 

“ Then take your hat and come along to the 
bank,” said he. 

This was sharp work. 

“ Your Excellency does not mean to take the 
money now — to-night ? ” I exclaimed. 

“Not to take, Mr. Martin — to receive it from 
you. We have made our bargain. What is the 
objection to carrying it out promptly ? ” 

“ But I must have the bonds. They must be 
prepared, sir.” 

“ They are here,” he said, taking a bundle from 
the drawer of a writing-table. “ Three hundred 
thousand dollars, six per cent, stock, signed by my- 
self, and countersigned by Don Antonio. Take 
your hat and come along.” 

I did as I was bid. 


15 


CHAPTER III 


AN EXCESS OF AUTHORITY 

It was a beautiful moonlight night, and Whitting- 
ham was looking her best as we made our way 
along the avenue leading to the Piazza 1871. The 
President walked briskly, silent but serene ; I fol- 
lowed, the trouble in my mind reflected in a some- 
what hang-dog air, and I was not much comforted 
when the President broke the stillness of the night 
by saying : 

“You have set your foot on the first rung of 
the ladder that leads to fame and wealth, Mr. 
Martin.” 

I was rather afraid I had set it on the first rung 
of the ladder that leads to the gallows. But there 
the foot was; what the ladder turned out to be 
was in the hands of the gods ; so I threw off care, 
and as we entered the Piazza I pointed to the 
statue and said : 

“ Behold my inspiring example, your Excel- 
lency.” 

“ By Jove, yes !” he replied; “ I make the most 
of my opportunities.” 

I knew he regarded me as one of his opportuni- 
ties, and was making the most of me. This is not 
a pleasant point of view to regard one’s self from, 
so I changed the subject, and said : 

“ Shall we call for Don Antonio ? ” 

“ Why?” 


16 


AN EXCESS OF AUTHORITY 


“Well, as he’s Minister of Finance, I thought 
perhaps his presence would make the matter more 
regular.” 

“ If the presence of the President,” said that 
official, “ can’t make a matter regular, I don’t 
know what can. Let him sleep on. Isn’t his sig- 
nature on the bonds enough? ” 

What could I do ? I made one more weak ob- 
jection : 

“ What shall we tell Jones ? ” 

“ What shall we tell Jones ? ” he echoed. 
“Really, Mr. Martin, you must use your dis- 
cretion as to what you tell your employees. You 
can hardly expect me to tell Jones anything, be- 
yond that it’s a fine morning.” 

We had now reached the bank, which stood in 
Liberty Street, a turning out of the Piazza. I 
took out my key, unlocked the door, and we en- 
tered together. We passed into my inner sanctum, 
where the safe stood. 

“ What’s it in ? ” asked the President. 

“United States bonds, and bills on New York 
and London,” I replied. 

“ Good,” said he. “ Let me look.” 

I undid the safe, and took out the securities. 
He examined them carefully, placing each after 
due scrutiny in a small handbag, in which he had 
brought down the bonds I was to receive. I stood 
by, holding a shaded candle. At this moment a 
voice cried from the door : 

“ If you move you’re dead men ! ” 

I started and looked up. The President looked 
up without starting. There was dear old Jones, 
descended from his upper chamber, where he and 
Mrs. Jones resided. He was clad only in his night- 
17 


A MAN OF MARK 


shirt, and was levelling a formidable gun full at the 
august head of his Excellency. 

“ Ah, Mr. Jones,” said the latter, “ it’s a fine 
morning.” 

“Good Heavens, the President!” cried Jones; 
“ and Mr. Martin ! Why, what on earth, gentle- 
men ” 

The President gently waved one hand toward 
me, as if to say, “ Mr. Martin will explain,” and 
went on placing his securities in the bag. 

In face of this crisis my hesitation left me. 

“ I have received a cable from Europe, Jones,” 
said I, “ instructing me to advance a sum of money 
to his Excellency; I am engaged in carrying out 
these instructions.” 

“ Cable ? ” said Jones. “ Where is it? ” 

“ In my pocket,” said I, feeling for it. “ No ! 
Why I must, have left it at the Golden House.” 

The President came to my assistance. 

“ I saw it on the table just before we started. 
Though I presume Mr. Jones has no right ” 

“None at all,” I said briskly. 

“ Yet, as a matter of concession, Mr. Martin will 
no doubt show it to him to-morrow ? ” 

“ Strictly as a matter of concession perhaps I 
will, though I am bound to say that I am surprised 
at your manner, Mr. Jones.” 

Jones looked sadly puzzled. 

“ It’s all irregular, sir,” said he. 

“ Hardly more so than your costume ! ” said the 
President pleasantly. 

Jones was a modest man, and being thus made 
aware of the havoc the draught was playing with 
his airy covering, he hastily closed the door, and 
said to me appealingly : 


18 


AN EXCESS OF AUTHORITY 


“ It’s all right, sir, I suppose ? ” 

“ Perfectly right,” said I. 

“ But highly confidential,” added the President. 
“ And you will put me under a personal obligation, 
Mr. Jones, and at the same time fulfil your duty 
to your employers, if you preserve silence till the 
transaction is officially announced. A man who 
serves me does not regret it.” 

Here he was making the most of another oppor- 
tunity — Jones this time. 

“ Enough of this,” I said. “ I will go over the 
matter in the morning, and meanwhile hadn’t you 
better go back to ” 

“ Mrs. Jones,” interjected his Excellency. “ And 
mind, silence, Mr. Jones ! ” 

He walked up to Jones as he said this, and 
looked hard at him. 

“ Silent men prosper best, and live longest, Mr. 
Jones.” 

Jones looked into his steely eyes, and suddenly 
fell all of a tremble. 

The President was satisfied. He abruptly 
pushed him out of the room, and we heard his 
shambling steps going up the staircase. 

His Excellency turned to me, and said with 
apparent annoyance : 

“ You leave a great deal to me, Mr. Martin.” 

He had certainly done more than tell Jones it 
was a fine morning. But I was too much troubled 
to thank him ; I was thinking of the cable. The 
President divined my thoughts, and said : 

“ You must prepare that cable.” 

“Yes,” I replied; “that would reassure him. 
But I haven’t had much practice in that sort of 

thing, and I don’t quite know ” 

19 


A MAN OF MARK 


The President scribbled a few words on a bit of 
paper, and said : 

“ Take that to the post office and they’ll give you 
the proper form ; you can fill it up.” 

Certainly some things go easily if the head of the 
state is your fellow-criminal. 

“ And now, Mr. Martin, it grows late. I have 
my securities ; you have your bonds. W e have 
won over Jones. All goes well. Aureataland is 
saved. You have made your fortune, for there lie 
your sixty-five thousand dollars. And, in fine, I am 
much obliged to you. I will not trouble you to at- 
tend me on my return. Good-night, Mr. Martin.” 

He went out, and I threw myself down in my 
office chair, and sat gazing at the bonds he had left 
me. I wondered whether he had merely made a 
tool of me ; whether I could trust him ; whether I 
had done well to sacrifice my honesty, relying on 
his promises. And yet there lay my reward ; and, 
as purely moral considerations did not trouble me, 
I soon arose, put the Government bonds and the 
sixty-five thousand dollars in securities in the safe, 
locked up everything, and went home to my lodg- 
ings. As I went in it was broad daylight, for the 
clock had gone five, and I met Father Jacques sal- 
lying forth. He had already breakfasted, and was 
on his way to administer early consolation to the 
flower-women in the Piazza. He stopped me with 
a grieved look, and said : 

“ Ah, my friend, these are untimely hours.” 

I saw I was labouring under an unjust suspicion 
— a most revolting thing. 

“ I have only just come from the bank,” I said. 
“ I had to dine at the Golden House and afterward 
returned to finish up a bit of work.” 

20 


AN EXCESS OF AUTHORITY 


“ Ah ! that is well,” he cried. “ It is, then, the 
industrious and not the idle apprentice I meet ? ” 
referring to a series of famous prints with which my 
room was decorated, a gift from my father on my 
departure. 

I nodded and passed on, saying to myself : 
<fi Deuced industrious, indeed. Not many men 
have done such a night s work as I have.” 

And that was how my fortunes became bound 
up with those of the Aureataland national debt. 


21 


CHAPTER IV 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 

After the incidents above recorded, things went 
on quietly enough for some months. I had a seri- 
ous talk with Jones, reproaching him gravely for 
his outrageous demeanour. He capitulated abjectly 
on being shown the cable, which was procured in 
the manner kindly indicated by the President. 
The latter had perhaps been in too great a hurry 
with his heavy guns, for his hint of violence had 
rather stirred than allayed Jones’ apprehensions. 
If there were nothing to conceal, why should his 
Excellency not stick at murder to hide it ? How- 
ever, I explained to him the considerations of high 
policy, dictating inviolable secrecy, and justifying a 
somewhat arbitrary way of dealing with a trusted 
official ; and the marked graciousness with which 
Jones was received when he met the President at 
the ministry of finance on current business went far 
to obliterate his unpleasant recollections. I further 
bound him to my fortunes by obtaining for him a 
rise of salary from the directors, “ in consequence 
of the favourable report of his conduct received 
from Mr. Martin.” 

Peaceful as matters seemed, I was not altogether 
at ease. To begin with the new loan did not ap- 
parently at all improve the financial position of Au- 
reataland. Desolation still reigned on the scene of 
the harbour works ; there was the usual difficulty 
in paying salaries and meeting current expenditure. 
22 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 


The President did not invite my confidence as to 
the disposal of his funds ; indeed before long I was 
alarmed to see a growing coldness in his manner, 
which I considered at once ungrateful and menac- 
ing ; and when the half-year came round he firmly 
refused to disburse more than half the amount of 
interest due on the second loan, thus forcing me to 
make an inroad on my reserve of forty-five thou- 
sand dollars. He gave me many good reasons for 
this course of conduct, dwelling chiefly on the nec- 
essary unproductiveness of public works in their 
early stages, and confidently promising full pay- 
ment with arrears next time. Nevertheless, I be- 
gan to see that I must face the possibility of a con- 
tinual drain on resources that I had fondly hoped 
would be available for my own purposes for a con- 
siderable time at least. Thus one thing and another 
contributed to open a breach between his Excel- 
lency and myself, and, although I never ceased to 
feel his charm as a private companion, my distrust 
of him as a ruler, and, I may add, as a fellow-con- 
spirator, steadily deepened. 

Other influences were at this time — for we have 
now reached the beginning of 1883 — at work in the 
same direction. Rich in the possession of my 
“ bonus,” I had plunged even more freely than be- 
fore into the gayeties of Whittingham, and where 
I was welcome before, I was now a doubly hon- 
oured guest. I had also taken to play on a some- 
what high scale, and it was my reputation as a 
daring gambler that procured me the honour of an 
acquaintance with the signorina, the lady to whom 
the President had referred during his interview with 
me ; and my acquaintance with the signorina was 
very rich in results. 

17 


23 


A MAN OF MARK 


This lady was, after the President, perhaps the 
best-known person in Aureataland — best known, 
that is, by name and face and fame — for her ante- 
cedents and circumstances were wrapped in impen- 
etrable mystery. When I arrived in the country 
the Signorina Christina Nugent had been settled 
there about a year. She had appeared originally 
as a member of an operatic company, which had 
paid a visit to our National Theatre from the 
United States. The company passed on its not very 
brilliant way, but the signorina remained behind. 
It was said she had taken a fancy to Whittingham, 
and, being independent of her profession, had de- 
termined to make a sojourn there. At any rate, 
there she was ; whether she took a fancy to Whit- 
tingham, or whether someone in Whittingham 
took a fancy to her, remained in doubt. She es- 
tablished herself in a pretty villa closely adjoining 
the Golden House ; it stood opposite the presiden- 
tial grounds, commanding a view of that stately 
inclosure; and here she dwelt, under the care of a 
lady whom she called “ Aunt,” known to the rest 
of the world as Mrs. Carrington. The title “ Sig- 
norina” was purely professional; for all I know 
the name “ Nugent ” was equally a creature of 
choice; but, anyhow, the lady herself never pro- 
fessed to be anything but English, and openly 
stated that she retained her title simply because it 
was more musical than that of 46 Miss.” The old 
lady and the young one lived together in great ap- 
parent amity, and certainly in the utmost material 
comfort ; for they probably got through more 
money than anyone in the town, and there always 
seemed to be plenty more where that came from. 
Where it did come from was, I need hardly say, a 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 


subject of keen curiosity in social circles; and when 
I state that the signorina was now about twenty- 
three years of age, and of remarkably prepossess- 
ing appearance, it will be allowed that we in Whit- 
tingham were no worse than other people if we 
entertained some uncharitable suspicions. The 
signorina, however, did not make the work of de- 
tection at all easy. She became almost at once 
a leading figure in society ; her salon was the meet- 
ing-place of all parties and most sets ; she re- 
ceived many gracious attentions from the Golden 
House, but none on which slander could definitely 
settle. She was also frequently the hostess of 
members of the Opposition, and of no one more 
often than their leader, Colonel George McGregor, 
a gentleman of Scotch extraction, but not pro- 
nouncedly national characteristics, who had at- 
tained a high position in the land of his adoption ; 
for not only did he lead the Opposition in politics, 
but he was also second in command of the army. 
He entered the chamber as one of the President’s 
nominees (for the latter had reserved to himself 
power to nominate five members), but at the time 
of which I write the colonel had deserted his for- 
mer chief, and, secure in his popularity with the 
forces, defied the man by whose help he had risen. 
Naturally, the President disliked him, a feeling I 
cordially shared. But his Excellency’s disapproval 
did not prevent the signorina receiving McGregor 
with great cordiality, though here again with no 
more empressement than his position seemed to de- 
mand. 

I have as much curiosity as my neighbours, and 
I was proportionately gratified when the doors of 
“ Mon Repos,” as the signorina called her residence, 
25 


A MAN OF MARK 


were opened to me. My curiosity, I must confess, 
was not unmixed with other feelings ; for I was a 
young man at heart, though events had thrown 
sobering responsibilities upon me, and the sight of 
the signorina in her daily drives was enough to in- 
spire a thrill even in the soul of a bank manager. 
She was certainly very beautiful — a tall, fair girl, 
with straight features and laughing eyes. I shall 
not attempt more description, because all such de- 
scriptions sound commonplace, and the signorina 
was, even by the admission of her enemies, at least 
very far from commonplace. It must suffice to 
say that, like Father O’Flynn, she 44 had such a 
way with her ” that all of us men in Aureataland, 
old and young, rich and poor, were at her feet, or 
ready to be there on the least encouragement. She 
was, to my thinking, the very genius of health, 
beauty, and gayety; and she put the crowning 
touch to her charms by very openly and frankly 
soliciting and valuing the admiration she received. 
For, after all, it’s only exceptional men who are at- 
tracted by difficile beauty ; to most of us a gracious 
reception of our timid advances is the most subtle 
temptation of the devil. 

It may be supposed, then, that I thought my 
money very well invested when it procured me 
an invitation to 44 Mon Repos,” where the lady of 
the house was in the habit of allowing a genteel 
amount of gambling among her male friends. She 
never played herself, but stood and looked on with 
much interest. On occasion she would tempt for- 
tune by the hand of a chosen deputy, and nothing 
could be prettier or more artistic than her behaviour. 
She was just eager enough for a girl unused to the 
excitement and fond of triumph, just indifferent 
26 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 

enough to show that her play was merely a pas- 
time, and the gain of the money or its loss a mat- 
ter of no moment. Ah! signorina, you were a 
great artist. 

At “ Mon Repos ” I soon became an habitual, 
and, I was fain to think, a welcome, guest. Mrs. 
Carrington, who entertained a deep distrust of the 
manners and excesses of Aureataland, was good 
enough to consider me eminently respectable, while 
the signorina was graciousness itself. I was even 
admitted to the select circle at the dinner party 
which, as a rule, preceded her Wednesday evening 
reception, and I was a constant figure round the 
little roulette board, which, of all forms of gaming, 
was our hostess’ favourite delectation. The colonel 
was, not to my pleasure, an equally invariable 
guest, and the President himself would often hon- 
our the party with his presence, an honour we 
found rather expensive, for his luck at all games of 
skill or chance was extraordinary. 

“ I have always trusted Fortune,” he would say, 
“ and to me she is not fickle.” 

“ Who would be fickle if your Excellency were 
pleased to trust her?” the signorina would re- 
spond, with a glance of almost fond admiration. 

This sort of thing did not please McGregor. He 
made no concealment of the fact that he claimed 
the foremost place among the signorina’s admirers, 
utterly declining to make way even for the Presi- 
dent. The latter took his boorishness very quietly; 
and I could not avoid the conclusion that the 
President held, or thought he held, the trumps. I 
was, naturally, intensely jealous of both these great 
men, and, although I had no cause to complain of 
my treatment, I could not stifle some resentment 
27 


A MAN OF MARK 


at the idea that I was, after all, an outsider and 
not allowed a part in the real drama that was going 
on. My happiness was further damped by the fact 
that luck ran steadily against me, and I saw my 
bonus dwindling very rapidly. I suppose I may 
as well be frank, and confess that my bonus, to 
speak strictly, vanished within six months after I 
first set foot in “ Mon Repos,” and I found it nec- 
essary to make that temporary use of the “ inter- 
est fund,” which the President had indicated as 
open to me under the terms of our bargain. 
However, my uneasiness on this score was light- 
ened when the next instalment of interest was 
punctually paid, and, with youthful confidence, 
I made little doubt that luck would turn before 
long. 

Thus time passed on, and the beginning of 1884 
found us all leading an apparently merry and un- 
troubled life. In public affairs the temper was 
very different. The scarcity of money was intense, 
and serious murmuring had arisen when the Presi- 
dent “ squandered ” his ready money in buying in- 
terest, leaving his civil servants and soldiers unpaid. 
This was the topic of much discussion in the press 
at the time, when I went up one March evening to 
the signorina’s. I had been detained at the bank, 
and found the play in full swing when I came in. 
The signorina was taking no part in it, but sat by 
herself on a low lounge by the veranda window. I 
went up to her and made my bow. 

“ You spare us but little of your time, Mr. Mar- 
tin,” she said. 

“ Ah, but you have all my thoughts,” I replied, 
for she was looking charming. 

“ I don’t care so much about your thoughts,” she 
28 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 


said. Then, after a pause, she went on, “ It’s very 
hot here, come into the conservatory.” 

It almost looked as though she had been waiting 
for me, and I followed in high delight into the 
long, narrow glass house running parallel to the 
salon . High green plants hid us from the view of 
those inside, and we only heard distinctly his Ex- 
cellency’s voice, saying with much geniality to the 
colonel, “Well, you must be lucky in love, colonel,” 
from which I concluded that the colonel was not 
in the vein at cards. 

The signorina smiled slightly as she heard ; then 
she plucked a white rose, turned round, and stood 
facing me, slightly flushed as though with some 
inner excitement. 

“ I am afraid those two gentlemen do not love 
one another,” she said. 

“ Hardly,” I assented. 

“And you, do you love them — or either of 
them ? ” 

“ I love only one person in Aureataland,” I re- 
plied, as ardently as I dared. 

The signorina bit her rose, glancing up at me 
with unfeigned amusement and pleasure. I think 
I have mentioned that she didn’t object to honest 
admiration. 

“ Is it possible you mean me ? ” she said, making 
me a little courtesy. “I only think so because 
most of the Whittingham ladies would not satisfy 
your fastidious taste.” 

“No lady in the world could satisfy me except 
one,” I answered, thinking she took it a little too 
lightly. 

“Ah ! so you say,” she said. “And yet I don’t sup- 
pose you would do anything for me, Mr. Martin ? ” 
29 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ It would be my greatest happiness,"’ I cried. 

She said nothing, but stood there, biting the rose. 

“ Give it to me,” I said; “it shall be my badge 
of service.” 

“ You will serve me, then ? ” said she. 

“ For what reward ? ” 

“ Why, the rose ! ” 

“ I should like the owner too,” I ventured to re- 
mark. 

“ The rose is prettier than the owner,” she said ; 
“ and, at any rate, one thing at a time, Mr. Martin ! 
Do you pay your servants all their wages in ad- 
vance ? ” 

My practice was so much the contrary that I 
really couldn’t deny the force of her reasoning. She 
held out the rose. I seized it and pressed it close 
to my lips, thereby squashing it considerably. 

“ Dear me,” said the signorina, “ I wonder if I 
had given you the other thing whether you would 
have treated it so roughly.” 

“ I’ll show you in a moment,” said I. 

“ Thank you, no, not just now,” she said, show- 
ing no alarm, for she knew she was safe with me. 
Then she said abruptly : 

“ Are you a Constitutionalist or a Liberal, Mr. 
Martin ? ” 

I must explain that, in the usual race for the 
former title, the President’s party had been first at 
the post, and the colonel’s gang (as I privately 
termed it) had to put up with the alternative desig- 
nation. Neither name bore any relation to facts. 

“ Are we going to talk politics ? ” said I reproach- 
fully. 

“ Yes, a little ; you see we got to an impasse on 
the other topic. Tell me.” 


OVERTURES FROM THE .OPPOSITION 

“ Which are you, signorina ? ” I asked. 

I really wanted to know ; so did a great many 
people. 

She thought for a moment, and then said : 

“ I have a great regard for the President. He 
has been most kind to me. He has shown me real 
affection.” 

“ The devil he has ! ” I muttered. 

44 I beg your pardon ? ” said she. 

44 I only said, 4 Of course he has.’ The President 
has the usual complement of eyes.” 

The signorina smiled again, but went on as if I 
hadn’t spoken. 

44 On the other hand, I cannot disguise from my- 
self that some of his measures are not wise.” 

I said I had never been able to disguise it from 
myself. 

44 The colonel, of course, is of the same opinion,” 
she continued. 44 About the debt, for instance. I 
believe your bank is interested in it ? ” 

This was no secret, so I said : 

44 Oh, yes, to a considerable extent.” 

“ And you ? ” she asked softly. 

44 Oh, I am not a capitalist ! no money of mine 
has gone into the debt.” 

44 No money of yours, no. But aren’t you inter- 
ested in it?” she persisted. 

This was rather odd. Could she know anything ? 

She drew nearer to me, and, laying a hand light- 
ly on my arm, said reproachfully : 

44 Do you love people, and yet not trust them, 
Mr. Martin ? ” 

This was exactly my state of feeling toward the 
signorina, but I could not say so. I was wondering 
how far I should be wise to trust her, and that de- 
31 


A MAN OF MARK 


pended largely on how far his Excellency had seen 
fit to trust her with my secrets. I finally said : 

46 Without disclosing other people’s secrets, sig- 
norina, I may admit that if anything went wrong 
with the debt my employers’ opinion of my discre- 
tion would be severely shaken.” 

44 Of your discretion ,” she said, laughing. 44 Thank 
you, Mr. Martin. And you would wish that not 
to happen ? ” 

44 1 would take a good deal of pains to prevent 
its happening.” 

44 Not less willingly if your interest and mine 
coincided ? ” 

I was about to make a passionate reply when we 
heard the President’s voice saying : 

44 And where is our hostess? I should like to 
thank her before I go.” 

“Hush,” whispered the signorina. 44 We must 
go back. You will be true to me, Mr. Martin ? ” 

44 Call me Jack,” said I idiotically. 

“Then you will be true, O Jack?” she said, 
stifling a laugh. 

44 Till death,” said I, hoping it would not be 
necessary. 

She gave me her hand, which I kissed with fer- 
vour, and we returned to the salon , to find all the 
players risen from the table and standing about in 
groups, waiting to make their bows till the Presi- 
dent had gone through that ceremony. I was 
curious to hear if anything passed between him and 
the signorina, but I was pounced upon by Donna 
Antonia, the daughter of the minister of finance, 
who happened to be present, notwithstanding the 
late hour, as a guest of the signorina’s for the night. 
She was a handsome young lady, a Spanish bru- 
32 


OVERTURES FROM THE OPPOSITION 


nette of the approved pattern, but with manners 
formed at a New York boarding school, where she 
had undergone a training that had tempered, with- 
out destroying, her native gentility. She had dis- 
tinguished me very favourably, and I was vain 
enough to suppose she honoured me by some jeal- 
ousy of my penchant for the signorina. 

“ I hope you have enjoyed yourself in the con- 
servatory,” she said maliciously. 

“We were talking business, Donna Antonia,” I 
replied. 

“ Ah ! business ! I hear of nothing but business. 
There is papa gone down to the country and bury- 
ing himself alive to work out some great scheme of 
business.” 

I pricked up my ears. 

“ Ah ! what scheme is that ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! Something about that horrid 
debt. But I was told not to say anything about it ! ” 

The debt was becoming a bore. The whole air 
was full of it. I hastily paid Donna Antonia a few 
incoherent compliments, and took my leave. As 
I was putting on my coat Colonel McGregor joined 
me and, with more friendliness than he usually 
showed me, accompanied me down the avenue tow- 
ard the Piazza. After some indifferent remarks 
he began : 

“ Martin, you and I have separate interests in 
some matters, but I think we have the same in 
others.” 

I knew at once what he meant ; it was that debt 
over again ! 

I remained silent, and he continued : 

“ About the debt, for instance. You are inter- 
ested in the debt ? ” 


33 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Somewhat,” said I. “ A banker generally is 
interested in a debt.” 

“ I thought so,” said the colonel. “ A time may 
come when we can act together. Meanwhile, 
keep your eye on the debt. Good-night ! ” 

We parted at the door of his chambers in the 
Piazza, and I went on to my lodgings. 

As I got into bed, rather puzzled and very un- 
easy, I damned the debt. Then, remembering that 
the debt was, as it seemed, for some reason a com- 
mon interest to the signorina and myself, I apolo- 
gised to it, and fell asleep. 


34 


CHAPTER V 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 

The flight of time brought no alleviation to the 
troubles of Aureataland. If an individual hard up 
is a pathetic sight, a nation hard up is an alarming 
spectacle ; and Aureataland was very hard up. I 
suppose somebody had some money. But the 
Government had none ; in consequence the Gov- 
ernment employees had none, the officials had none, 
the President had none, and finally, I had none. 
The bank had a little — of other people’s, of course 
— but I was quite prepared for a “ run ” on us any 
day, and had cabled to the directors to implore a 
remittance in cash, for our notes were at a discount 
humiliating to contemplate. Political strife ran 
high. I dropped into the House of Assembly one 
afternoon toward the end of May, and, looking 
down from the gallery, saw the colonel in the full 
tide of wrathful declamation. He was demanding 
of miserable Don Antonio when the army was to 
be paid. The latter sat cowering under his scorn, 
and would, I verily believe, have bolted out of the 
House had he not been nailed to his seat by the 
cold eye of the President, who was looking on from 
his box. The minister on rising had nothing to 
urge but vague promises of speedy payment ; but 
he utterly lacked the confident effrontery of his 
chief, and nobody was deceived by his weak prot- 
estations. I left the House in a considerable up- 
roar, and strolled on to the house of a friend of 
35 


A MAN OF MARK 


mine, one Mme. Devarges, the widow of a French 
gentleman who had found his way to Whittingham 
from New Caledonia. Politeness demanded the 
assumption that he had found his way to New Cale- 
donia owing to political troubles, but the usual 
cloud hung over the precise date and circumstances 
of his patriotic sacrifice. Madame sometimes con- 
sidered it necessary to bore herself and others with 
denunciations of the various tyrants or would-be ty- 
rants of France ; but, apart from this pious offering 
on the shrine of her husband’s reputation, she was a 
bright and pleasant little woman. I found assem- 
bled round her tea-table a merry party, including 
Donna Antonia, unmindful of her father’s agonies, 
and one Johnny Carr, who deserves mention as be- 
ing the only honest man in Aureataland. I speak, 
of course, of the place as I found it. He was a young 
Englishman, what they call a “ cadet,” of a good 
family, shipped off with a couple of thousand pounds 
to make his fortune. Land was cheap among us, 
and Johnny had bought an estate and settled down 
as a landowner. Recently he had blossomed forth 
as a keen Constitutionalist and a devoted admirer 
of the President’s, and held a seat in the assembly 
in that interest. Johnny was not a clever man nor 
a wise one, but he was merry, and, as I have thought 
it necessary to mention, honest. 

“Hallo, Johnny! Why not at the House?” 
said I to him. “ You’ll want every vote to-night. 
Be off and help the ministry, and take Donna An- 
tonia with you. They’re eating up the Minister of 
Finance.” 

“ All right ! I’m going as soon as I’ve had an- 
other muffin,” said Johnny. “But what’s the row 
about ? ” 


36 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 


“ Well, they want their money,” I replied; “ and 
Don Antonio won’t give it them. Hence bad 
feeling.” 

“ Tell you what it is,” said Johnny ; 44 he hasn’t 
got a ” 

Here Donna Antonia struck in, rather suddenly, 
I thought. 

44 Do stop the gentleman talking politics, Mme. 
Devarges. They’ll spoil our tea-party.” 

44 Your word is law,” I said ; 44 but I should like 
to know what Don Antonio hasn’t got.” 

44 Now do be quiet,” she rejoined ; 44 isn’t it quite 
enough that he has got — a charming daughter ? ” 

44 And a most valuable one,” I replied, with a 
bow, for I saw that for some reason or other Donna 
Antonia did not mean to let me pump Johnny 
Carr, and I wanted to pump him. 

44 Don’t say another word, Mr. Carr,” she said, 
with a laugh. 44 You know you don’t know any- 
thing, do you ? ” 

44 Good Lord, no ! ” said Johnny. 

Meanwhile Mme. Devarges was giving me a cup 
of tea. As she handed it to me, she said in a low 
voice : 

44 If I were his friend I should take care Johnny 
didn’t know anything, Mr. Martin.” 

44 If I were his friend I should take care he told 
me what he knew, Mme. Devarges,” I replied. 

44 Perhaps that’s what the colonel thinks,” she 
said. 44 Johnny has just been telling us how very 
attentive he has become.. And the signorina too, I 
hear.” 

44 You don’t mean that?” I exclaimed. 44 But, 
after all, pure kindness, no doubt ! ” 

44 You have received many attentions from those 
37 


A MAN OF MARK 


quarters,” she said. “No doubt you are a good 
judge of the motives.” 

“ Don’t, now don’t be disagreeable,” said I. “ I 
came here for peace.” 

“ Poor young man ! have you lost all your 
money? Is it possible that you, like Don An- 
tonio, haven’t got a ” 

“ What is going to happen ? ” I asked, for Mme. 
Devarges often had information. 

“ I don’t know,” she said. “ But if I owned na- 
tional bonds, I should sell.” 

“ Pardon me, madame ; you would offer to sell.” 

She laughed. 

“ Ah ! I see my advice comes too late.” 

I did not see any need to enlighten her father. 
So I passed on to Donna Antonia, who had sat 
somewhat sulkily since her outburst. I sat down 
by her and said : 

“ Surely I haven’t offended you?” 

“ You know you wouldn’t care if you had,” she 
said, with a reproachful but not unkind glance. 
“ Now, if it were the signorina ” 

I never object to bowing down in the temple of 
Rimmon, so I said : 

“ Hang the signorina ! ” 

“ If I thought you meant that,” said Donna An- 
tonia, “ I might be able to help you.” 

“ Do I want help ? ” I asked. 

“Yes,” said she. 

“ Then suppose I do mean it ? ” 

Donna Antonia refused to be frivolous. With a 
look of genuine distress she said : 

“ You will not let your real friends save you, Mr. 
Martin. You know you want help. Why don’t 
you consider the state of your affairs ? ” 

38 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 


“ In that, at least, my friends in Whittingham 
are very ready to help me,” I answered, with some 
annoyance. 

“ If you take it in that way,” she replied sadly, 
“ I can do nothing.” 

I was rather touched. Clearly she wished to be 
of some use to me, and for a moment I thought I 
might do better to tear myself free from my chains, 
and turn to the refuge opened to me. But I could 
not do this ; and, thinking it would be rather mean 
to take advantage of her interest in me only to use 
it for my own purposes, I yielded to conscience and 
said : 

“ Donna Antonia, I will be straightforward with 
you. You can only help me if I accept your gui- 
dance ? I can’t do that. I am too deep in.” 

“ Yes, you are deep in, and eager to be deeper,” 
she said. “ Well, so be it. If that is so I cannot 
help you.” 

“ Thank you for your kind attempt,” said I. 
“ I shall very likely be sorry some day that I re- 
pulse it. I shall always be glad to remember that 
you made it.” 

She looked at me a moment, and said : 

“We have ruined you among us.” 

“ Mind, body, and estate ? ” 

She made no reply, and I saw my return to flip- 
pancy wounded her. So I rose and took my leave. 
Johnny Carr went with me. 

“ Things look queer, eh, old man ? ” said he. 
“ But the President will pull through in spite of the 
colonel and his signorina.” 

“ Johnny,” said I, “ you hurt my feelings ; but, 
still, I will give you a piece of advice. ” 

“ Drive on,” said Johnny. 

18 89 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Marry Donna Antonia,” said I. “ She’s a good 
girl and a clever girl, and won’t let you get drunk 
or robbed.” 

“ By Jove, that’s not a bad idea ! ” said he. 
“ Why don’t you do it yourself ? ” 

“ Because I’m hke you, Johnny — an ass,” I re- 
plied, and left him wondering why, if he was an 
ass and 1 was an ass, one ass should marry Donna 
Antonia, and not both or neither. 

As I went along I bought the Gazette , the gov- 
ernment organ, and read therein : 

“ At a Cabinet Council this afternoon, presided 
over by his Excellency, we understand that the ar- 
rangements connected with the national debt formed 
the subject of discussion. The resolutions arrived 
at are at present strictly confidential, but we have 
the best authority for stating that the measures to 
be adopted will have the effect of materially allevi- 
ating the present tension, and will afford unmixed 
satisfaction to the immense majority of the citizens 
of Aureataland. The President will once again be 
hailed as the saviour of his country.” 

“ I wonder if the immense majority will include 
me,” said I. “ I think I will go and see his Excel- 
lency.” 

Accordingly, the next morning I took my way 
to the Golden House, where I learned that the 
President was at the Ministry of Finance. Arriv- 
ing there, I sent in my card, writing thereon a hum- 
ble request for a private interview. I was ushered 
into Don Antonio’s room, where I found the min- 
ister himself, the President, and Johnny Carr. As 
I entered and the servant, on a sign from his Ex- 
40 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 


cellency, placed a chair for me, the latter said rather 
stiffly : 

“ As I presume this is a business visit, Mr. Mar- 
tin, it is more regular that I should receive you in 
the presence of one of my constitutional advisers. 
Mr. Carr is acting as my secretary, and you can 
speak freely before him.” 

I was annoyed at failing in my attempt to see 
the President alone, but not wishing to show it, I 
merely bowed and said : 

4 4 I venture to intrude on your Excellency, in 
consequence of a letter from my directors. They 
inform me that, to use their words, 4 disquieting 
rumours ’ are afloat on the exchanges in regard to 
the Aureataland loan, and they direct me to sub- 
mit to your Excellency the expediency of giving 
some public notification relative to the payment of 
the interest falling due next month. It appears 
from their communication that it is apprehended 
that some difficulty may occur in the matter.” 

44 W ould not this application, if necessary at all, 
have been more properly made to the Ministry of 
Finance in the first instance? ” said the President. 
44 These details hardly fall within my province.” 

44 1 can only follow my instructions, your Excel- 
lency,” I replied. 

44 Have you any objection, Mr. Martin,” said the 
President, 44 to allowing myself and my advisers to 
see this letter ? ” 

44 1 am empowered to submit it only to your Ex- 
cellency’s own eye.” 

44 Oh, only to my eye,” said he, with an amused 
expression. 44 That was why the interview was to 
be private ? ” 

44 Exactly, sir,” I replied. 44 1 intend no disre- 
41 


A MAN OF MARK 


spect to the Minister of Finance or to your secre- 
tary, sir, but I am bound by my orders.” 

“ You are an exemplary servant, Mr. Martin, but 
I don’t think I need trouble you about it further. 
Is it a cable ? ” 

He smiled so wickedly at this question that I saw 
he had penetrated my little fiction. However, I 
only said : 

“ A letter, sir.” 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said he to the others, “ I 
think we may reassure Mr. Martin. Tell your 
directors this, Mr. Martin : The Government does 
not see any need of a public notification, and none 
will be made. I think we agree, gentlemen, that 
to acknowledge the necessity of any such action 
would be highly derogatory. But assure them that 
the President has stated to you, Mr. Martin, per- 
sonally, with the concurrence of his advisers, that 
he anticipates no difficulties in your being in a po- 
sition to remit the full amount of interest to them 
on the proper day.” 

“ I may assure them, sir, that the interest will 
be punctually paid? ” 

“ Surely I expressed myself in a manner you 
could understand,” said he, with the slightest 
emphasis on the “you.” “ Aureataland will meet 
her obligations. You will receive all your due, Mr. 
Martin. That is so, gentlemen ? ” 

Don Antonio acquiesced at once. Johnny Carr, 
I noticed, said nothing, and fidgeted rather un- 
easily in his chair. I knew what the President 
meant. He meant, “ If we don’t pay, pay it out 
of your reserve fund.” Alas, the reserve fund was 
considerably diminished ; I had enough, and just 
enough, left to pay the next instalment if I paid 
42 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 


none of my own debts. I felt very vicious as I saw 
his Excellency taking keen pleasure in the con- 
sciousness of my difficulties (for he had a shrewd 
notion of how the land lay), but of course I could 
say nothing. So I rose and bowed myself out, 
feeling I had gained nothing, except a very clear 
conviction that I should not see the color of the 
President’s money on the next interest day. True, 
I could just pay myself. But what would happen 
next time? And if he wouldn’t pay, and I couldn’t 
pay, the game would be up. As to the original 
loan, it is true I had no responsibility; but then, if 
no interest were paid, the fact that I had applied 
the second loan, my loan, in a different manner 
from what I was authorised to do, and had repre- 
sented myself to have done, would be inevitably 
discovered. And my acceptance of the bonus, my 
dealings with the reserve fund, my furnishing inac- 
curate returns of investments, all this would, I 
knew, look rather queer to people who didn’t know 
the circumstances. 

When I went back to the bank, revolving these 
things in my mind, I found Jones employed in ar- 
ranging the correspondence. It was part of his 
duty to see to the preservation and filing of all let- 
ters arriving from Europe, and, strange to say, he 
delighted in the task. It was part of my duty to 
see he did his ; so I sat down and began to turn 
over the pile of letters and messages which he had 
put on my desk ; they dated back two years ; this 
surprised me, and I said : 

“ Rather behindhand, aren’t you, Jones ? ” 

44 Yes, sir, rather. Fact is, I’ve done ’em before, 
but as you’ve never initialled ’em, I thought I ought 
to bring ’em to your notice.” 

43 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Quite right — very neglectful of me. I suppose 
they’re all right ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, all right.” 

“ Then I won’t trouble to go through them.” 

“ They’re all there, sir, except, of course, the 
cable about the second loan, sir.” 

“ Except what ? ” I said. 

“ The cable about the second loan,” he repeated. 

I was glad to be reminded of this, for of course 
I wished to remove that document before the 
bundle finally took its place among the archives. 
Indeed, I thought I had done so. But why had 
Jones removed it? Surely Jones was not as scep- 
tical as that ? 

“ Ah, and where have you put that ? ” 

“ Why, sir, his Excellency took that.” 

“What? ” I cried. 

“ Yes, sir. Didn’t I mention it ? Why, the day 
after you and the President were here that night, 
his Excellency came down in the afternoon, when 
you’d gone out to the Piazza, and said he wanted 
it. He said, sir, that you’d said it was to go to the 
Ministry of Finance. He was very affable, sir, and 
told me that it was necessary the original should 
be submitted to the minister for his inspection ; and 
as he was passing by (he’d come in to cash a check 
on his private account) he’d take it up himself. 
Hasn’t he given it back to you, sir ? He said he 
would.” 

I had just strength enough to gasp out : 

“ Slipped his memory, no doubt. All right, 
Jones.” 

“ May I go now, sir ? ” said Jones. “ Mrs. Jones 
wanted me to go with her to ” 

“ Yes, go,” said I, and as he went out I added a 
44 


I APPRECIATE THE SITUATION 


destination different, no doubt, from what the good 
lady had proposed. For I saw it all now. That 
old villain (pardon my warmth) had stolen my 
forged cable, and, if need arose, meant to produce 
it as his own justification. I had been done, done 
brown — and Jones’ idiocy had made the task easy. 
I had no evidence but my word that the President 
knew the message was fabricated. Up till now I 
had thought that if I stood convicted I should 
have the honour of his Excellency’s support in the 
dock. But now ! why now, I might prove myself 
a thief, but I couldn’t prove him one. I had con- 
vinced Jones, not for my good, but for his. I had 
forged papers, not for my good, but for his. True, 
I had spent the money myself, but 

“ Damn it all ! ” I cried in the bitterness of my 
spirit, “ he won about three-quarters of that.” 

And his Excellency’s words came back to my 
memory, “ I make the most of my opportunities.” 


CHAPTER VI 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 

The next week was a busy one for me. I spent it 
in scraping together every bit of cash I could lay 
my hands on. If I could get together enough to 
pay the interest on the three hundred thousand 
dollars supposed to be invested in approved secur- 
ities, — really disposed of in a manner only known 
to his Excellency, — I should have six months to 
look about me. Now, remaining out of my “bo- 
nus ” was nil , out of my “ reserve fund ” ten thou- 
sand dollars. This was enough. But alas I how 
happened it that this sum was in my hands ? Be- 
cause I had borrowed five thousand from the bank ! 
If they wouldn’t let their own manager overdraw, 
whom would they ? Sol overdrew. But if this 
money wasn’t back before the monthly balancing, 
Jones would know! And I dared not rely on be- 
ing able to stop his mouth again. When I said 
Johnny Carr was the only honest man in Aureata- 
land I forgot Jones. To my grief and annoyance 
Jones also was honest, and Jones would consider 
it his duty to let the directors know of my over- 
draft. If once they knew, I was lost, for an over- 
draft effected privately from the safe by the man- 
ager is, I do not deny it, decidedly irregular. 
Unless I could add five thousand dollars to my 
ten thousand before the end of the month I should 
have to bolt ! 

This melancholy conclusion was reinforced and 
46 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 


rendered demonstrable by a letter which arrived, 
to crown my woes, from my respected father, in- 
forming me that he had unhappily become indebted 
to our chairman in the sum of two thousand 
pounds, the result of a deal between them, that he 
had seen the chairman, that the chairman was ur- 
gent for payment, that he used most violent lan- 
guage against our family in general, ending by 
declaring his intention of stopping my salary to 
pay the parental debt. “ If he doesn’t like it he 
may go, and small loss.” This was a most unjus- 
tifiable proceeding, but I was hardly in a position 
to take up a high moral attitude toward the chair- 
man, and in the result I saw myself confronted 
with the certainty of beggary and the probability 
of jail. But for this untoward reverse of fortune I 
might have taken courage and made a clean breast 
of my misdoings, relying on the chairman’s obli- 
gations to my father to pull me through. But 
now, where was I ? I was, as Donna Antonia put 
it, very deep in indeed. So overwhelmed was I by 
my position, and so occupied with my frantic 
efforts to improve it, that I did not even find time 
to go and see the signorina, much as I needed 
comfort ; and, as the days went on, I fell into such 
despair that I went nowhere, but sat dismally in 
my own rooms, looking at my portmanteau, and 
wondering how soon I must pack and fly, if not 
for life, at least for liberty. 

At last the crash came. I was sitting in my of- 
fice one morning, engaged in the difficult task of 
trying to make ten into fifteen, when I heard the 
clatter of hoofs. 

A moment later the door was opened, and Jones 
ushered in Colonel McGregor. I nodded to the 
47 


A MAN OF MARK 


colonel, who came in with his usual leisurely step, 
sat himself down, and took off his gloves. I roused 
myself to say : 

“ What can I do for you, colonel ? ” 

He waited till the door closed behind Jones, and 
then said: 

“ I’ve got to the bottom of it at last, Martin.” 

This was true of myself also, but the colonel 
meant it in a different sense. 

“ Bottom of what?” I asked, rather testily. 

“ That old scamp’s villainy,” said he, jerking his 
thumb toward the Piazza and the statue of the 
Liberator. “ He’s very ’cute, but he’s made a 
mistake at last.” 

“ Do come to the point, colonel. What’s it all 
about ? ” 

“ Would you be surprised to hear,” said the col- 
onel, adopting a famous mode of speech, “ that the 
interest on the debt would not be paid on the 31st ? ” 

“No, I shouldn’t,” said I resignedly. 

“ Would you be surprised to hear that no more 
interest would ever be paid ? ” 

“ The devil! ” I cried, leaping up. “ What do 
you mean, man ? ” 

“The President,” said he calmly, “will, on the 
31st instant, repudiate the national debt! ” 

I had nothing left to say. I fell back in my 
chair and gazed at the colonel, who was now em- 
ployed in lighting a cigarette. At the same mo- 
ment a sound of rapid wheels struck on my ears. 
Then I heard the sweet, clear voice I knew so well 
saying : 

“ I’ll just disturb him for a moment, Mr. Jones. 
I want him to tear himself from work for a day, 
and come for a ride.” 


48 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 


She opened my door, and came swiftly in. On 
seeing the colonel she took in the position, and said 
to that gentleman : 

“ Have you told him ? ” 

“ I have just done so, signorina,” he replied. 

I had not energy enough to greet her; so she 
also sat down uninvited, and took off her gloves — 
not lazily, like the colonel, but with an air as 
though she would, if a man, take off her coat, to 
meet the crisis more energetically. 

At last I said, with conviction : 

“ He’s a wonderful man ! How did you find it 
out, colonel ? ” 

“ Had Johnny Carr to dine and made him 
drunk,” said that worthy. 

“ You don’t mean he trusted Johnny? ” 

“ Odd, isn’t it ? ” said the colonel. “ With his 
experience, too. He might have known Johnny 
was an ass. I suppose there was no one else.” 

“ He knew,” said the signorina, “ anyone else in 
the place would betray him; he knew Johnny 
wouldn’t if he could help it. He underrated your 
powers, colonel.” 

“Well,” said I, “I can’t help it, can I? My 
directors will lose. The bondholders will lose. 
But how does it hurt me ? ” 

The colonel and the signorina both smiled gently. 

“ You do it very well, Martin,” said the former, 
“ but it will save time if I state that both Signorina 
Nugent and myself are possessed of the details re- 
garding the — ” (The colonel paused, and stroked 
his mustache.) 

“ The second loan,” said the signorina. 

I was less surprised at this, recollecting certain 
conversations. 


49 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Ah ! and how did you find that out ? ” I asked. 

“She told me,” said the colonel, indicating his 
fair neighbour. 

“And may I ask how you found it out, sig- 
norina ? ” 

“ The President told me,” said that lady. 

“ Did you make him drunk? ” 

“ No, not drunk,” was her reply, in a very de- 
mure voice, and with downcast eyes. 

We could guess how it had been done, but 
neither of us cared to pursue the subject. After a 
pause, I said: 

“ Well, as you both know all about it, it’s no good 
keeping up pretences. It’s very kind of you to 
come and warn me.” 

“ You dear, good Mr. Martin,” said the signorina, 
“ our motives are not purely those of friendship.” 

“ Why, how does it matter to you ? ” 

“ Simply this,” said she : “ the bank and its ex- 
cellent manager own most of the debt. The 
colonel and I own the rest. If it is repudiated, 
the bank loses; yes, but the manager, and the 
colonel, and the Signorina Nugent are lost ! ” 

“ I didn’t know this,” I said, rather bewildered. 

“Yes,” said the colonel, “when the first loan 
was raised I lent him one hundred thousand dol- 
lars. We were thick then, and I did it in return 
for my rank and my seat in the Chamber. Since 
then I’ve bought up some more shares.” 

“ You got them cheap, I suppose ? ” said I. 

“Yes,” he replied, “I averaged them at about 
seventy-five cents the five- dollar share.” 

“ And what do you hold now, nominally ? ” 

“ Three hundred thousand dollars,” said he 
shortly. 


50 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 


“ I understand your interest in the matter. But 
you, signorina ? ” 

The signorina appeared a little embarrassed. 
But at last she broke out: 

“ I don’t care if I do tell you. When I agreed 
to stay here, he [we knew whom she meant] gave 
me one hundred thousand dollars. And I had 
fifty thousand, or thereabouts, of my own that I 
had ” 

“ Saved out of your salary as a prima donna, ” 
put in the colonel. 

“ What does it matter?” said she, flushing; “ I 
had it. Well, then, what did he do? He per- 
suaded me to put it all — the whole one hundred 
and fifty thousand — into his horrid debt. Oh ! 
wasn’t it mean, Mr. Martin? ” 

The President had certainly combined business 
and pleasure in this matter. 

“ Disgraceful ! ” I remarked. 

“And if that goes, I am penniless — penniless. 
And there’s poor aunt. What will she do ? ” 

“ Never mind your aunt,” said the colonel, rather 
rudely. “Well,” he went on, “you see we’re in 
the same boat with you, Martin.” 

“Yes; and we shall soon be in the same deep 
water,” said I. 

“ Not at all ! ” said the colonel. 

“ Not at all ! ” echoed the signorina. 

“ Why, what on earth are you going to do ? ” 

“ Financial probity is the backbone of a coun- 
try,” said the colonel. “Are we to stand by and 
see Aureataland enter on the shameful path of 
repudiation? ” 

“Never!” cried the signorina, leaping up with 
sparkling eyes. “ Never ! ” 

51 


A MAN OF MARK 


She looked enchanting. But business is busi- 
ness ; and I said again : 

“ What are you going to do ? ” 

“We are going, with your help, Martin, to pre- 
vent this national disgrace. We are going — ” he 
lowered his voice, uselessly, for the signorina struck 
in, in a high, merry tone, waving her gloves over 
head and dancing a little pas seul on the floor be- 
fore me, with these remarkable words : 

“ Hurrah for the Revolution ! Hip ! hip ! hurrah ! ” 

She looked like a Goddess of Freedom in her 
high spirits and a Paris bonnet. I lost my mental 
balance. Leaping up, I grasped her round the 
waist, and we twirled madly about the office, the 
signorina breaking forth into the “ Marseillaise.” 

“ For God’s sake, be quiet ! ” said McGregor, in 
a hoarse whisper, making a clutch at me as I sped 
past him. “ If they hear you ! Stop, I tell you, 
Christina ! ” 

The signorina stopped. 

“ Do you mean me, Colonel McGregor ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ and that fool Martin, too.” 

“ Even in times of revolution, colonel,” said I, 
“ nothing is lost by politeness. But in substance 
you are right. Let us be sober.” 

We sat down again, panting, the signorina be- 
tween her gasps still faintly humming the psalm of 
liberty. 

“ Kindly unfold your plan, colonel,” I resumed. 
“ I am aware that out here you think little of revo- 
lutions, but to a newcomer they appear to be mat- 
ters requiring some management. You see we are 
only three.” 

“ I have the army with me,” said he grandly. 

52 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 


“ In the outer office ? ” asked I, indulging in a 
sneer at the dimensions of the Aureataland forces. 

“ Look here, Martin,” he said, scowling, “if you’re 
coming in with us, keep your jokes to yourself.” 

“ Don’t quarrel, gentlemen,” said the signorina. 
“ It’s waste of time. Tell him the plan, colonel, 
while I’m getting cool.” 

I saw the wisdom of this advice, so I said : 

“Your pardon, colonel. But won’t this repudi- 
ation be popular with the army? If he lets the 
debt slide, he can pay them.” 

“Exactly,” said he. “Hence we must get at 
them before that aspect of the case strikes them. 
They are literally starving, and for ten dollars a 
man they would make Satan himself President. 
Have you got any money, Martin ? ” 

“ Yes,” said I, “a little.” 

“ How much ? ” 

“ Ten thousand,” I replied ; “ I was keeping it 
for the interest.” 

“ Ah ! you won’t want it now.” 

“ Indeed I shall — for the second loan, you know.” 

“ Look here, Martin ; give me that ten thousand 
for the troops. Stand in with us, and the day I be- 
come President I’ll give you back your three hun- 
dred thousand. Just look where you stand now. 
I don’t want to be rude, but isn’t it a case of ” 

“ Some emergency,” said I thoughtfully. “Yes, 
it is. But where do you suppose you’re going to 
get three hundred thousand dollars, to say nothing 
of your own shares ? ” 

He drew his chair closer to mine, and, leaning 
forward, said: 

“ He’s never spent the money. He’s got it some- 
where ; much the greater part, at least.” 

53 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Did Carr tell you that ? ” 

“ He didn’t know for certain ; but he told me 
enough to make it almost certain. Besides,” he 
added, glancing at the signorina, “we have other rea- 
sons for suspecting it. Give me the ten thousand. 
You shall have your loan back, and, if you like, you 
shall be Minister of Finance. W e practically know 
the money’s there ; don’t we, signorina ? ” 

She nodded assent. 

“ If we fail ? ” said I. 

He drew a neat little revolver from his pocket, 
placed it for a moment against his ear, and re- 
pocketed it. 

“ Most lucidly explained, colonel,” said I. “ Will 
you give me half an hour to think it over ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said. “ You’ll excuse me if I stay in 
the outer office. Of course I trust you, Martin, 
but in this sort of thing ” 

“All right, I see,” said I. “And you, signorina? ” 

“ I’ll wait too,” she said. 

They both rose and went out, and I heard them 
in conversation with Jones. I sat still, thinking 
hard. But scarcely a moment had passed, when I 
heard the door behind me open. It was the sig- 
norina. She came in, stood behind my chair, and, 
leaning over, put her arms round my neck. 

I looked up, and saw her face full of mischief. 

“ What about the rose, Jack ? ” she asked. 

I remembered. Bewildered with delight, and 
believing I had won her, I said : 

“ Your soldier till death, signorina.” 

“Bother death!” said she saucily. 5< Nobody’s 
going to die. We shall win, and then ” 

“And then,” said I eagerly, “you’ll marry me, 
sweet ? ” 


54 


MOURONS POUR LA PATRIE ! 


She quietly stooped down and kissed my lips. 
Then, stroking my hair, she said : 

“You’re a nice boy, but you’re not a good boy, 
Jack.” 

44 Christina, you won’t marry him? ” 

44 Him?” 

44 McGregor,” said I. 

44 Jack,” said she, whispering now, “ I hate him ! ” 

44 So do I,” I answered promptly. 44 And if it’s 
to win you, I’ll upset a dozen Presidents.” 

44 Then you’ll do it for me ? I like to think you’ll 
do it for me, and not for the money.” 

As the signorina was undoubtedly “doing it” 
for her money, this was a shade unreasonable. 

44 1 don’t mind the money coming in — ” I began. 

44 Mercenary wretch ! ” she cried. 44 1 didn’t kiss 
you, did I ? ” 

44 No,” I replied. 44 You said you would in a 
minute, when I consented.” 

44 Very neat, Jack,” she said. But she went and 
opened the door and called to McGregor, “Mr. 
Martin sees no objection to the arrangement, and 
he will come to dinner to-night, as you suggest, 
and talk over the details. W e’re all going to make 
our fortunes, Mr. Jones,” she went on, without 
waiting for any acceptance of her implied invita- 
tion, 4 4 and when we’ve made ours, we’ll think about 
you and Mrs. Jones.” 

I heard Jones making some noise, incoherently 
suggestive of gratification, for he was as bad as any 
of us about the signorina, and then I was left to my 
reflections. These were less sombre than the reader 
would, perhaps, anticipate. True, I was putting 
my head into a noose ; and if the President’s hands 
ever found their way to the end of the rope, I fan- 
19 55 


A MAN OF MARK 


cied he would pull it pretty tight. But, again, I 
was immensely in love, and equally in debt ; and 
the scheme seemed to open the best chance of sat- 
isfying my love, and the only chance of filling my 
pocket. To a young man life without love isn’t 
worth much ; to a man of any age, in my opinion, 
life without money isn’t worth much ; it becomes 
worth still less when he is held to account for money 
he ought to have. So I cheerfully entered upon 
my biggest gamble, holding the stake of life well 
risked. My pleasure in the affair was only marred 
by the enforced partnership of McGregor. There 
was no help for this, but I knew he wasn’t much 
fonder of me than I of him, and I found myself 
gently meditating on the friction likely to arise be- 
tween the new President and his minister of finance, 
in case our plans succeeded. Still the signorina 
hated him, and by all signs she loved me. So I lay 
back in my chair, and recalled my charmer’s pres- 
ence by whistling the hymn of liberty until it was 
time to go to lunch, an observance not to be 
omitted even by conspirators. 


66 


CHAPTER VII 


THE MINE IS LAID 

The morning meeting had been devoted to prin- 
ciples and to the awakening of enthusiasm ; in the 
evening the conspirators condescended upon details, 
and we held a prolonged and anxious conference at 
the signorina’s. Mrs. Carrington was commanded 
to have a headache after dinner, and retired with it 
to bed ; and from ten till one we sat and conspired. 
The result of our deliberations was a very pretty 
plan, of which the main outlines were as follows : 

This was Tuesday. On Friday night the colonel, 
with twenty determined ruffians (or resolute pa- 
triots) previously bound to him, body and soul, by 
a donation of no less than fifty dollars a man, was 
to surprise the Golden House, seize the person of 
the President and all cash and securities on the 
premises ; no killing, if it could be avoided, but on 
the other hand no shilly-shally. McGregor wanted 
to put the President out of the way at once, as a 
precautionary measure, but I strongly opposed this 
proposal, and, finding the signorina was abso- 
lutely inflexible on the same side, he yielded. I 
had a strong desire to be present at this midnight 
surprise, but another duty called for my presence. 
There was a gala supper at the barracks that even- 
ing, to commemorate some incident or other in the 
national history, and I was to be present and to 
reply to the toast of “ The Commerce of Aureata- 
land.” My task was, at all hazards , to keep this 
57 


A MAN OF MARK 


party going till the colonel’s job was done, when he 
would appear at the soldiers’ quarters, bribe in 
hand, and demand their allegiance. Our knowledge 
of the character of the troops made us regard the re- 
sult as a certainty, if once the President was a pris- 
oner and the dollars before their eyes. The colonel 
and the troops were to surround the officers’ mess- 
room, and offer them life and largesse, or death 
and destruction. Here again we anticipated their 
choice with composure. The army was then to be 
paraded in the Piazza, the town overawed or con- 
verted, and, behold, the Revolution was accom- 
plished! The success of this design entirely de- 
pended on its existence remaining a dead secret 
from the one man we feared, and on that one man 
being found alone and unguarded at twelve o’clock 
on Friday night. If he discovered the plot, we 
were lost. If he took it into his head to attend the 
supper, our difficulties would be greatly increased. 
At this point we turned to the signorina, and I said 
briefly : 

“ This appears to be where you come in, signor- 
ina. Permit me to invite you to dine with his 
Excellency on Friday evening at eight precisely.” 

“You mean,” she said slowly, “that I am to 
keep him at home, and, but for myself, alone, on 
Friday ? ” 

“ Yes,” said I. “ Is there any difficulty? ” 

“ I do not think there is great difficulty,” she said, 
“ but I don’t like it ; it looks so treacherous.” 

Of course it did. I didn’t like her doing it my- 
self, but how else was the President to be secured ? 

“ Rather late to think of that, isn’t it ? ” asked 
McGregor, with a sneer. “A revolution won’t 
run on high moral wheels.” 

58 


THE MINE IS LAID 


“ Think how he jockeyed you about the money,” 
said I, assuming the part of the tempter. 

“ By the way,” said McGregor, 44 it’s understood 
the signorina enters into possession of the Presi- 
dent’s country villa, isn’t it ? ” 

Now, my poor signorina had a longing for that 
choice little retreat; and between resentment for 
her lost money and a desire for the pretty house on 
the one hand, and, on the other, her dislike of the 
Delilah-like part she was to play, she was sore be- 
set. Left to herself, I believe she would have 
yielded to her better feelings, and spoiled the plot. 
As it was, the colonel and I, alarmed at this recru- 
descence of conscience, managed to stifle its prompt- 
ings, and bent her to our wicked will. 

44 After all, he deserves it,” she said, “ and I’ll do 
it!” 

It is always sad to see anybody suffering from a 
loss of self-respect, so I tried to restore the signor- 
ina’s confidence in her own motives, by references 
to Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite, Charlotte 
Corday, and such other relentless heroines as oc- 
curred to me. McGregor looked upon this striving 
after self-justification with undisguised contempt. 

44 It’s only making a fool of him again,” he said; 
44 you’ve done it before, you know!” 

44 I’ll do it, if you’ll swear not to — to hurt him,” 
she said. 

44 I’ve promised already,” he replied sullenly. 44 1 
won’t touch him, unless he brings it on himself. 
If he tries to kill me, I suppose I needn’t bare my 
breast to the blow ? ” 

44 No, no,” I interposed; 44 1 have a regard for 
his Excellency, but we must not let our feelings 
betray us into weakness. He must be taken — alive 
59 


A MAN OF MARK 

and well, if possible — but in the last resort, dead or 
alive.” 

“ Come, that’s more like sense,” said the colonel 
approvingly. 

The signorina sighed, but opposed us no longer. 

Returning to ways and means, we arranged for 
communication in case of need during the next 
three days without the necessity of meeting. My 
position, as the centre of financial business in 
Whittingham, made this easy ; the passage of 
bank messengers to and fro would excite little 
remark, and the messages could easily be so ex- 
pressed as to reveal nothing to an uninstructed eye. 
It was further agreed that on the smallest hint of 
danger reaching any one of us, the word should at 
once be passed to the others, and we should rendez- 
vous at the colonel’s “ ranch,” which lay some seven 
miles from the town. Thence, in this lamentable 
case, escape would be more possible. 

“And now,” said the colonel, “if Martin will 
hand over the dollars, I think that’s about all.” 

I had brought the ten thousand dollars with me. 
I produced them and put them on the table, keep- 
ing a loving hand on them. 

“ You fully understand my position, colonel ? ” I 
said. “ This thing is no use to me unless I receive 
at least three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, 
to pay back principal, to meet interest, and to re- 
place another small debt to the bank. If I do that, 
I shall be left with a net profit of five thousand 
dollars, not an extravagant reward. If I don’t get 
that sum I shall be a defaulter, revolution or no 
revolution.” 

“ I can’t make money if it’s not there,” he said, 
but without his usual brusqueness of tone. “ But 
60 


THE MINE IS LAID 


to this we agree : You are to have first turn at 
anything we find, up to the sum you name. It’s to 
be handed over solid to you. The signorina and I 
take the leavings. You don’t claim to share them 
too, do you? ” 

“ No,” I said, 44 I’m content to be a preference 
shareholder. If the money’s found at the Golden 
House, it’s mine. If not, the new Government, 
whatever it may do as to the rest of the debt, will 
pay me that sum.” 

With that I pushed my money over to the 
colonel. 

44 1 expect the new Government to be very con- 
siderate to the bondholders all round,” said the 
colonel, as he pocketed it with a chuckle. 44 Any- 
how, your terms are agreed ; eh, signorina ? ” 

44 Agreed ! ” said she. 44 And I’m to have the 
country seat ? ” 

44 Agreed ! ” said I. 44 And the colonel’s to be 
President and to have the Golden House and all 
that therein is.” 

44 Agreed ! agreed ! agreed ! ” chanted the sig- 
norina ; 44 and that’s quite enough business, and it’s 
very late for me to be entertaining gentlemen. 
One toast, and then good-night. Success to the 
Revolution ! To be drunk in blood-red wine ! ” 

As there was no red wine, except claret, and that 
lies cold on the stomach at three in the morning, 
we drank it in French brandy. I had risen to go, 
when a sudden thought struck me : 

44 By Jupiter I where’s Johnny Carr? I say, 
colonel, how drunk was he last night? Do you 
think he remembers telling you about it ? ” 

“Yes,” said the colonel, 44 1 expect he does by 
now. He didn’t when I left him this morning.” 

61 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Will he confess to the President ? If he does, 
it might make the old man keep an unpleasantly 
sharp eye on you. He knows you don’t love him.” 

“Well, he hasn’t seen the President yet. He 
was to stay at my house over to-day. He was un- 
common seedy this morning, and I persuaded the 
doctor to give him a composing draught. Fact is, 
I wanted him quiet till I’d had time to think ! You 
know I don’t believe he would own up — the Presi- 
dent would drop on him so; but he might, and it’s 
better they shouldn’t meet.” 

“There’s somebody else he oughtn’t to meet,” 
said the signorina. 

“Who’s that?” I asked. 

“ Donna Antonia,” she replied. “ He’s getting 
very fond of her, and depend upon it, if he’s in 
trouble he’ll go and tell her the first thing. Mr. 
Carr is very confidential to his friends.” 

We recognised the value of this suggestion. If 
Donna Antonia knew, the President would soon 
know. 

“ Quite right,” said the colonel. “ It won’t do to 
have them rushing about letting out that we know 
all about it. He’s all right up to now.” 

“ Yes, but if he gets restive to-morrow morning ? ” 
said I. “And then you don’t want him at the 
Golden House on Friday evening, and I don’t want 
him at the barracks.” 

“No, he’d show fight, Carr would,” said the 
colonel. “ Look here, we’re in for this thing, and 
I’m going through with it. I shall keep Carr at 
my house till it’s all over.” 

“ How? ” asked the signorina. 

“ By love, if possible ! ” said the colonel, with a 
grin — “ that is, by drink. Failing that, by force. 

62 


THE MINE IS LAID 


It’s essential that the old man shouldn’t get wind 
of anything being up ; and if Carr told him about 
last night he’d prick up his wicked old ears. No, 
Master Johnny is better quiet.” 

“ Suppose he turns nasty,” I suggested again. 

“ He may turn as nasty as he likes,” said the 
colonel. “ He don’t leave my house unless he puts 
a bullet into me first. That’s settled. Leave it to 
me. If he behaves nicely, he’ll be all right. If 
not ” 

“ What shall you do to him ? ” asked the signo- 
rina. 

I foresaw another outburst of conscience, and 
though I liked Johnny, I liked myself better. So 
I said : 

“Oh, leave it to the colonel; he’ll manage all 
right.” 

“Now I’m off,” said the latter, “back to my 
friend Johnny. Good-night, signorina. Write to 
the President to-morrow. Good-night, Martin. 
Make that speech of yours pretty long. Au revoir 
till next Friday.” 

I prepared to go, for the colonel lingered till I 
came with him. Even then we so distrusted one 
another that neither would leave the other alone 
with the signorina. 

We parted at the door, he going off up the road 
to get his horse and ride to his “ ranch,” I turning 
down toward the Piazza. 

We left the signorina at the door, looking pale 
and weary, and for once bereft of her high spirits. 
Poor girl! She found conspiracy rather trying 
work. 

I was a little troubled myself. I began to see 
more clearly that it doesn’t do for a man of scruples 
63 


A MAN OF MARK 


to dabble in politics. I had a great regard for poor 
Johnny, and I felt no confidence in the colonel 
treating him with any consideration. In fact, I 
would not have insured Johnny’s life for the next 
week at any conceivable premium. Again I thought 
it unlikely that, if we succeeded, the President 
would survive his downfall. I had to repeat to 
myself all the story of his treachery to me, lashing 
myself into a fury against him, before I could bring 
myself to think with resignation of the imminent 
extinction of that shining light. What a loss he 
would be to the world ! So many delightful stories, 
so great a gift of manner, so immense a personal 
charm — all to disappear into the pit! And for 
what ? To put into his place a ruffian without re- 
deeming qualities. Was it worth while to put 
down Lucifer only to enthrone Beelzebub? I 
could only check this doleful strain of reflection by 
sternly recalling myself to the real question — the 
state of the fortunes of me, John Martin. And to 
me the revolution was necessary. I might get the 
money ; at least I should gain time. And I might 
satisfy my love. I was animated by the honourable 
motive of saving my employers from loss and by 
the overwhelming motive of my own passion. If 
the continued existence of Johnny and the Presi- 
dent was incompatible with these legitimate ob- 
jects, so much the worse for Johnny and the 
President. 


64 


CHAPTER VIII 


JOHNNY CARR IS WILFUL 

The next three days were on the whole the most 
uncomfortable I have ever spent in my life. I got 
little sleep and no rest ; I went about with a re- 
volver handy all day, and jumped every time I 
heard a sound. I expended much change in buy- 
ing every edition of all the papers ; I listened with 
dread to the distant cries of news-venders, fearing, 
as the words gradually became distinguishable, to 
hear that our secret was a secret no longer. I was 
bound to show myself, and yet shrank from all 
gatherings of men. I transacted my business with 
an absent mind and a face of such superhuman 
innocence that, had anyone been watching me, he 
must at once have suspected something wrong. I 
was incapable of adding up a row of figures, and 
Jones became most solicitous about the state of my 
brain. In a word, my nerves were quite shattered, 
and I registered a vow never to upset a Govern- 
ment again as long as I lived. In future, the 
established constitution would have to be good 
enough for me. I invoked impartial curses on the 
President, the colonel, the directors, and myself! 
and I verily believe that only the thought of the 
signorina prevented me making a moonlight flitting 
across the frontier with a whole skin at least, if with 
an empty pocket, and leaving the rival patriots of 
Aureataland to fight it out among themselves. 

Happily, however, nothing occurred to justify 
65 


A MAN OF MARK 


my fears. The other side seemed to be sunk in 
dull security. The President went often to the 
Ministry of Finance, and was closeted for hours 
with Don Antonio ; I suppose they were perfecting 
their nefarious scheme. There were no signs of ex- 
citement or activity at the barracks ; the afternoon 
gatherings on the Piazza were occupied with noth- 
ing more serious than the prospects of lawn tennis 
and the grievous dearth of dances. The official 
announcements relative to the debt had had a 
quieting effect; and all classes seemed inclined to 
wait and see what the President’s new plan was. 

So passed W ednesday and Thursday. On neither 
day had I heard anything from my fellow- conspira- 
tors ; our arrangements for writing had so far proved 
unnecessary — or unsuccessful. The latter possi- 
bility sent a shiver down my back, and my 
lively fancy pictured his Excellency’s smile as he 
perused the treasonable documents. If I heard 
nothing on the morning of Friday, I was deter- 
mined at all risks to see the colonel. With the 
dawn of that eventful day, however, I was relieved 
of this necessity. I was lying in bed about half- 
past nine (for I never add to the w T oes of life 
by early rising) when my servant brought in three 
letters. 

“Sent on from the bank, sir,” he said, “with 
Mr. Jones’ compliments, and are you going there 
this morning ? ” 

“ My compliments to Mr. Jones, and he may ex- 
pect me in five minutes,” I replied. 

The letters were all marked “ Immediate ” ; one 
from the signorina, one from the colonel, one from 
the barracks. I opened the last first and read as 
follows : 


66 


JOHNNY CARR IS WILFUL 


“ The officers of the Aureataland Army have 
the honour to remind Mr. John Martin that they 
hope to have the pleasure of his company at supper 
this evening at ten o’clock precisely. In the un- 
avoidable absence of his Excellency, the President, 
owing to the pressing cares of state, and of the 
Hon. Colonel McGregor from indisposition, the 
toast of the Army of Aureataland will be proposed 
by Major Alphonse DeChair. 

“ P. S. — Cher Martin, speak long this night. 
The two great men do not come, and the evening 
wants to be filled out. Tout a vous 9 

“ Alphonse DeChair.” 

“ It shall be long, my dear boy, and we will fill 
out your evening for you,” said I to myself, well 
pleased so far. 

Then I opened the signorina’s epistle. 

“Dear Mr. Martin [it began]: Will you be 
so kind as to send me in the course of the day 
twenty dollars in small change ? I want to give 
the school children a scramble. I inclose check. 
I am so sorry you could not dine with me to-night, 
but after all I am glad, because I should have had 
to put you off, for I am commanded rather sudden 
to dine at the Golden House. With kind regards, 
believe me, yours sincerely, 

“Christina Nugent.” 

“ Very good,” said I. “ I reckon the scramble 
will keep. And now for the colonel.” 

The colonel’s letter ran thus: 

“ Dear Martin : I inclose check for five hun- 
dred dollars. My man will call for the cash to- 
morrow morning. I give you notice because I 
67 


A MAN OF MARK 


want it all in silver for wages. [Rather a poverty 
of invention among us, I thought.] Carr and I 
are here together, both seedy. Poor Carr is on his 
back and likely to remain there for a day or two — 
bad attack of champagne. I’m better, and though 
I’ve cut the affair at barracks to-night, I fully ex- 
pect to be up and about this afternoon. 

“ Ever yours, 

“Geo. McGregor.” 

“ Oh ! so Carr is on his back and likely to re- 
main there, is he? Very likely, I expect; but I 
wonder what it means. I hope the colonel hasn’t 
been very drastic. However, everything seems 
right ; in fact, better than I hoped.” 

In this more cheerful frame of mind I arose, 
breakfasted at leisure, and set out for the bank 
about eleven. 

Of course, the first person I met in the street 
was one of the last I wanted to meet, namely, 
Donna Antonia. She was on horseback, and her 
horse looked as if he’d done some work. At the 
sight of me she reined up, and I could not avoid 
stopping as I lifted my hat. 

“ Whence so early ? ” I asked. 

“ Early ? ” she said. “ I don’t call this early. 
I’ve been for a long ride ; in fact, I’ve ridden over 
to Mr. Carr’s place, with a message from papa ; but 
he’s not there. Do you know where he is, Mr. 
Martin ? ” 

“ Haven’t an idea,” said I. 

“He hasn’t been home for four nights,” she con- 
tinued, “ and he hasn’t been to the Ministry either. 
It’s very odd that he should disappear like this, 
just when all the business is going on, too.” 


JOHNNY CARR IS WILFUL 


“ What business, Donna Antonia? ” I asked 
blandly. 

She coloured, recollecting, no doubt, that the 
business was still a secret. 

“ Oh, well ! you know they’re always busy at the 
Ministry of Finance at this time. It’s the time 
they pay everybody, isn’t it ? ” 

“ It’s the time they ought to pay everybody,” I 
said. 

“ Well,” she went on, without noticing my cor- 
rection, “ at any rate, papa and the President are 
both very much vexed with him; so I offered to 
make my ride in his direction.” 

“ Where can he be ? ” I asked again. 

“ W ell,” she replied, ‘ ‘ I believe he’s at Colonel 
McGregor’s, and after lunch I shall go over there. 
I know he dined there on Monday, and I dare say 
he stayed on.” 

“ No,” thought I, “ you mustn’t do that, it might 
be inconvenient.” So I said : 

“ I know he’s not there ; I heard from McGregor 
this morning, and he says Carr left him on Tues- 
day. Why, how stupid I am ! The colonel says 
Carr told him he was going off for a couple of 
days’ sail in his yacht. I expect he’s got contrary 
winds, and can’t get back again. ” 

“ It’s very bad of him to go,” she said, “ but no 
doubt that’s it. Papa will be angry, but he’ll be 
glad to know no harm has come to him.” 

“ Happy to have relieved your mind,” said I, 
and bade her farewell, thanking my stars for a 
lucky inspiration, and wondering whether Don 
Antonio would find no harm had come to poor 
Johnny. I had my doubts. I regretted having to 
tell Donna Antonia what I did not believe to be 
69 


A MAN OF MARK 


true, but these things are incidental to revolutions 
— a point of resemblance between them and com- 
mercial life. 

When I arrived at the bank I despatched brief 
answers to my budget of letters ; each of the an- 
swers was to the same purport, namely, that I 
should be at the barracks at the appointed time. I 
need not trouble the reader with the various wrap- 
pings in which this essential piece of intelligence 
was involved. I then had a desperate encounter 
with Jones; business was slack, and Jones was 
fired with the unholy desire of seizing the oppor- 
tunity thus offered to make an exhaustive inquiry 
into the state of our reserve. He could not under- 
stand my sudden punctiliousness as to times and 
seasons, and I was afraid I should have to tell him 
plainly that only over my lifeless body should he 
succeed in investing the contents of the safe. At 
last I effected a diversion by persuading him to 
give Mrs. Jones a jaunt into the country, and, thus 
left in peace, I spent my afternoon in making final 
preparations. I burned many letters ; I wrote a 
touching farewell to my father, in which, under the 
guise of offering forgiveness, I took occasion to 
point out to him how greatly his imprudent con- 
duct had contributed to increase the difficulties of 
his dutiful son. I was only restrained from mak- 
ing a will by the obvious imprudence of getting it 
witnessed. I spent a feverish hour in firing imagi- 
nary shots from my revolver, to ascertain whether 
the instrument was in working order. Finally I 
shut up the bank at five, went to the Piazza, par- 
took of a light repast, and smoked cigars with mad 
speed till it was time to dress for the supper; and 
never was I more rejoiced than when the moment 
70 


JOHNNY CARR IS WILFUL 


for action at last came. As I was dressing, linger- 
ing over each garment with a feeling that I might 
never put it on, or, for that matter, take it off 
again, I received a second note from the colonel. 
It was brought by a messenger, on a sweating 
horse, who galloped up to my door. I knew the 
messenger well by sight ; he was the colonel’s 
valet. My heart was in my mouth as I took the en- 
velope from his hands (for I ran down myself). The 
fellow was evidently in our secret, for he grinned 
nervously at me as he handed it over, and said : 

44 I was to ride fast, and destroy the letter if any- 
one came near.” 

I nodded, and opened it. It said : 

44 C. escaped about six this evening. Believed 
to have gone to his house. He suspects . If you 
see him, shoot on sight.” 

I turned to the man. 

44 Had Mr. Carr a horse ? ” I asked. 

44 No, sir ; left on foot.” 

44 But there are horses at his house.” 

44 No, sir, the colonel has borrowed them all.” 

4 4 Why do you think he’s gone there ? ” 

44 Couldn’t come along the road to Whittingham, 
sir, it’s patrolled.” 

There was still a chance. It was ten miles across 
the country from the colonel’s to Johnny’s and six 
miles on from Johnny’s to Whittingham. The 
man divined my thoughts. 

44 He can’t go fast, sir, he’s wounded in the leg. 
If he goes home first, as he will, because he doesn’t 
know his horses are gone, he can’t get here before 
eleven at the earliest.” 

20 


71 


A MAN OF MARK 


“How was he wounded?” I asked. “Tell me 
what the colonel did to him, and be short.” 

“Yes, sir. The colonel told us Mr. Carr was to 
be kept at the ranch over night ; wasn’t to leave 
it alive, sir, he said. Well, up to yesterday it was 
all right and pleasant. Mr. Carr wasn’t very well, 
and the doses the colonel gave him didn’t seem to 
make him any better — quite the contrary. But 
yesterday afternoon he got rampageous, would go, 
anyhow, ill or well ! So he got up and dressed. 
We’d taken all his weapons from him, sir, and 
when he came down dressed, and asked for his 
horse, we told him he couldn’t go. Well, he just 
said, ‘ Get out of the light, I tell you,’ and began 
walking toward the hall door. I don’t mind say- 
ing we were rather put about, sir. We didn’t care 
to shoot him as he stood, and it’s my belief we’d 
have let him pass; but just as he was going out, in 
comes the colonel. ‘Hallo! what’s this, Johnny? ’ 
says he. ‘You’ve got some damned scheme on,’ 
said Mr. Carr. ‘ I believe you’ve been drugging 
me. Out of the way, McGregor, or I’ll brain 
you.’ ‘ Where are you going ? ’ says the colonel. 
‘ To Whittingham,- to the President’s ’ said he. 
‘Not to-day,’ says the colonel. ‘Come, be rea- 
sonable, Johnny. You’ll be all right to-morrow.’ 
‘ Colonel McGregor,’ says he, ‘ I’m unarmed, and 
you’ve got a revolver. You can shoot me if you 
like, but unless you do, I’m going out. You’ve 
been playing some dodge on me, and, by God ! 
you shall pay for it.’ With that he rushed straight 
at the colonel. The colonel, he stepped on one 
side and let him pass. Then he went after him to 
the door, waited till he was about fifteen yards off, 
then up with his revolver, as cool as you like, and 
72 


JOHNNY CARR IS WILFUL 


shot him as clean as a sixpence in the right leg. 
Down came Mr. Carr ; he lay there a minute or 
two cursing, and then he fainted. ‘ Pick him up, 
dress his wound, and put him to bed,’ says the col- 
onel. W ell, sir, it was only a flesh wound, so we 
soon got him comfortable, and there he lay all 
night.” 

“ How did he get away to-day?” 

(< We were all out, sir — went over to Mr. Carr’s 
place to borrow his horses. The colonel took a 
message, sir. [Here the fellow grinned again.] I 
don’t know what it was. Well, when we’d got 
the horses, we rode round outside the town, and 
came into the road between here and the colonel’s. 
Ten horses we got, and we went there to give the 
ten men who were patrolling the road the fresh 
horses. We heard from them that no one had 
come along. When we got home, he’d been gone 
two hours ! ” 

“ How did he manage it? ” 

“ A woman, sir,” said my warrior, with supreme 
disgust. “ Gave her a kiss and ten dollars to undo 
the front door, and then he was off! He daren’t 
go to the stables to get a horse, so he was forced 
to limp away on his game leg. A plucky one he 
is, too,” he concluded. 

“Poor old Johnny!” said I. “You didn’t go 
after him ? ” 

“No time, sir. Couldn’t tire the horses. Be- 
sides, when he’d once got home, he’s got a dozen 
men there, and they’d have kept us all night. 
Well, sir, I must be off. Any answer for the 
colonel? He’ll be outside the Golden House by 
eleven, sir, and Mr. Carr won’t get in if he comes 
after that.” 


73 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Tell him to rely on me,” I answered. But for 
all that I didn’t mean to shoot Johnny on sight. 
So, much perturbed in spirit, I set off to the bar- 
racks, wondering when Johnny would get to 
Whittingham, and whether he would fall into the 
colonel’s hands outside the Golden House. It 
struck me as unpleasantly probable that he might 
come and spoil the harmony of my evening; if he 
came there first, the conspiracy would probably 
lose my aid at an early moment ! What would 
happen to me I didn’t know. But, as I took off 
my coat in the lobby, I bent down as if to tie a 
shoestring, and had one more look at my revolver. 


74 


CHAPTER IX 


A SUPPER PARTY 

I shall never forget that supper as long as I live. 
Considered merely as a social gathering it would 
be memorable enough, for I never before or since 
sat at meat with ten such queer customers as my 
hosts of that evening. The officers of the Aureata- 
land Army were a very mixed lot — two or three 
Spanish- Americans, three or four Brazilians, and 
the balance Americans of the type their country- 
men are least proud of. If there was an honest 
man among them he sedulously concealed his title 
to distinction ; I know there wasn’t a sober one. 
The amount of liquor consumed was portentous ; 
and I gloated with an unholy joy as I saw man af- 
ter man rapidly making himself what diplomatists 
call a quantite neglige able. The conversation need- 
ed all the excuse the occasion could afford, and the 
wit would have appeared unduly coarse in a com- 
mon pot-house. All this might have passed from 
my memory, or blended in a subdued harmony 
with my general impression of Aureataland ; but 
the peculiar position in which I stood gave to my 
mind an unusual activity of perception. Among 
this band of careless, drunken revellers I sat vigi- 
lant, restless, and impatient; feigning to take a 
leading part in their dissolute hilarity, I was sober, 
collected, and alert to my very finger-tips. I 
anxiously watched their bearing and expression. 
I led them on to speak of the President, rejoicing 
75 


A MAN OF MARK 


when I elicited open murmurs and covert threats 
at his base ingratitude to the men on whose sup- 
port his power rested. They had not been paid 
for six months, and were ripe for any mischief. I 
was more than once tempted to forestall the 
colonel and begin the revolution on my own ac- 
count; only my inability to produce before their 
eyes any arguments of the sort they would listen 
to restrained me. 

Eleven o’clock had come and gone. The senior 
captain had proposed the President’s health. It 
was drunk in sullen silence ; I was the only man 
who honoured it by rising from his seat. 

The major had proposed the army, and they 
had drunk deep to their noble selves. A young 
man of weak expression and quavering legs had 
proposed 44 The commerce of Aureataland,” coupled 
with the name of Mr. John Martin, in laudatory 
but incoherent terms, and I was on my legs reply- 
ing. Oh, that speech of mine ! For discursive- 
ness, for repetition, for sheer inanity, I suppose it 
has never been equalled. I droned steadily away, 
interrupted only by cries for fresh supplies of wine ; 
as I went on the audience paid less and less atten- 
tion. It was past twelve. The well of my elo- 
quence was running drier and drier, and yet no 
sound outside ! I wondered how long they would 
stand it and how long I could stand it. At 12.15 
I began my peroration. Hardly had I done so, 
when one of the young men started in a gentle 
voice an utterly indescribable ditty. One by one 
they took it up, till the rising tide of voices 
drowned my fervent periods. Perforce I stopped. 
They were all on their feet now. Did they mean 
to break up? In despair at the idea I lifted up 
76 


A SUPPER PARTY 


my voice, loud and distinct (the only distinct voice 
left in the room), in the most shameful verse of 
that shameful composition, and seizing my neigh- 
bour’s hand began to move slowly round the table. 
The move was successful. Each man followed 
suit, and the whole party, kicking back their chairs, 
revolved with lurching steps round the debris of 
empty bottles and cigar ashes. 

The room was thick with smoke, and redolent of 
fumes of wine. Mechanically I led the chorus, 
straining every nerve to hear a sound from outside. 
I was growing dizzy with the movement, and, over- 
wrought with the strain on my nerves. I knew a few 
minutes more would be the limit of endurance, when 
at last I heard a loud shout and tumult of voices. 

44 What’s that ? ” exclaimed the major, in thick 
tones, pausing as he spoke. 

I dropped his hand, and, seizing my revolver, said: 

44 Some drunken row in barracks, major. Let 
’em alone.” 

44 I must go,” he said. 44 Character — Aureata- 
land — army — at stake.” 

44 Set a thief to catch a thief, eh, major ? ” said I. 

44 What do you mean, sir ? ” he stuttered. 44 Let 
me go.” 

44 If you move, I shoot, major,” said I, bring out 
my weapon. 

I never saw greater astonishment on human 
countenance. He swore loudly, and then cried : 

44 Hi, stop him — he’s mad — he’s going to shoot ! ” 

A shout of laughter rose from the crew around 
us, for they felt exquisite appreciation of my sup- 
posed joke. 

44 Right you are, Martin!” cried one. 44 Keep 
him quiet. We won’t go home till morning.” 

77 


A MAN OF MARK 


The major turned to the window. It was a 
moonlight night, and as I looked with him I saw 
the courtyard full of soldiers. Who was in com- 
mand ? The answer to that meant much to me. 

This sight somewhat sobered the major. 

“ A mutiny ! ” he cried. “ The soldiers have 
risen ! ” 

“ Go to bed,” said the junior ensign. 

“ Look out of window ! ” he cried. 

They all staggered to the window. As the sol- 
diers saw them, they raised a shout. I could not 
distinguish whether it was a greeting or a threat. 
They took it as the latter, and turned to the door. 

“ Stop ! ” I cried ; “ I shoot the first man who 
opens the door.” 

In wonder they turned on me. I stood facing 
them, revolver in hand. They waited huddled to- 
gether for an instant, then made a rush at me ; I 
fired, but missed. I had a vision of a poised de- 
canter ; a second later, the missile caught me in the 
chest and hurled me back against the wall. As I 
fell I dropped my weapon, and they were upon me. 
I thought it was all over ; but as they surged round, 
in the madness of drink and anger, 1, looking 
through their ranks, saw the door open and a crowd 
of men rush in. Who was at their head ? Thank 
God ! it was the colonel, and his voice rose high 
above the tumult : 

“ Order, gentlemen, order ! ” Then to his men 
he added : 

“Each mark your man, and two of you bring 
Mr. Martin here.” 

I was saved. To explain how, I must tell you 
what had been happening at the Golden House, and 
how the night attack had fared. 

78 


CHAPTER X 


TWO SURPRISES 

It is a sad necessity that compels us to pry into 
the weaknesses of our fellow-creatures, and seek to 
turn them to our own profit. I am not philosopher 
enough to say whether this course of conduct de- 
rives any justification from its universality, but in 
the region of practice, I have never hesitated to 
place myself on a moral level with those with whom 
I had to deal. I may occasionally even have left 
the other party to make this needful adjustment, 
and I have never known him fail to do so. I felt, 
therefore, very little scruple in making use of the 
one weak spot discoverable in the defences of our 
redoubtable opponent, his Excellency the President 
of Aureataland. No doubt the reader’s eye has 
before now detected the joint in that great man’s 
armour at which we directed our missile. As a 
lover, I grudged the employment of the signorina 
in this service; as a politician, I was proud of the 
device ; as a human being, I recognised, what we 
are very ready to recognise, that it did not become 
me to refuse to work with such instruments as ap- 
peared to be put into my hands. 

But whatever may be the verdict of moralists on 
our device, events proved its wisdom. The Presi- 
dent had no cause to suspect a trap ; therefore, like 
a sensible man, he chose to spend the evening with 
the signorina rather than with his gallant officers. 

79 


A MAN OF MARK 


With equally good taste, he elected to spend it 
tete-a-tete with her, when she gave him the oppor- 
tunity. In our subsequent conversations, the sig- 
norina was not communicative as to how the early 
hours of the evening passed. She preferred to be- 
gin her narrative from the point when their solitude 
was interrupted. As I rely on her account and 
that of the colonel for this part of my story, I am 
compelled to make my start from the same mo- 
ment. It appears that at a few minutes past eleven 
o’clock, when the President was peacefully smoking 
a cigar and listening to the conversation of his fair 
guest (whom he had galvanised into an affected 
liveliness by alarming remarks on her apparent 
preoccupation), there fell upon his ear the sound of 
a loud knocking at the door. Dinner had been 
served in a small room at the back of the house, 
and the President could not command a view of 
the knocker without going out on to the veranda, 
which ran all round the house, and walking round 
to the front. When the knock was heard, the sig- 
norina started up. 

“ Don’t disturb yourself, pray,” said his Excel- 
lency, politely. “ I gave special instructions that 
I was visible to no one this evening. But I was 
wondering whether it could be Johnny Carr. I 
want to speak to him for a moment, and I’ll just 
go round outside and see if it is.” 

As he spoke, a discreet tap was heard at the door. 

“ Yes ? ” said the President. 

“ Mr. Carr is at the door and particularly wants 
to see your Excellency. An urgent matter, he 
says.” 

“Tell him I’ll come round and speak to him 
from the veranda,” replied the President. 

80 


TWO SURPRISES 

He turned to the window, and threw it open to 
step out. 

Let me tell what followed in the signorina’s 
words. 

“Just then we heard a sound of a number of 
horses galloping up. The President stopped and 
said : 

“ 4 Hallo ! what’s up ? ’ 

“ Then there was a shout and a volley of shots, 
and I heard the colonel’s voice cry : 

“ 4 Down with your arms ; down, I say, or you’re 
dead men.’ 

“ The President stepped quickly across the room 
to his escritoire, took up his revolver, went back to 
the window, passed through it, and without a word 
disappeared. I could not hear even the sound of 
his foot on the veranda. 

44 1 heard one more shot — then a rush of men to 
the door, and the colonel burst in, with sword and 
revolver in his hands, and followed by ten or a 
dozen men. 

44 1 ran to him, terrified, and cried: 

44 4 Oh, is anyone hurt ? ’ 

44 He took no notice, but asked hastily : 

44 4 Where is he ? ’ 

44 1 pointed to the veranda, and gasped : 

44 4 He went out there. ’ Then I turned to one 
of the men and said again : 

44 4 Is anyone hurt ? ’ 

44 4 Only Mr. Carr,’ he replied. 4 The rest of ’em 
were a precious sight too careful of themselves. ’ 

44 4 And is he killed ? ’ 

“‘Don’t think he’s dead, miss,’ he said; 4 but 
he’s hurt badly.’ 

44 As I turned again, I saw the President stand- 
81 


A MAN OF MARK 


ing quite calmly in the window. When the colo- 
nel saw him he raised his revolver and said : 

“‘Do you yield, General Whittingham? We 
are twelve to one. 5 

46 As he spoke, every man covered the President 
with his aim. The latter stood facing the twelve 
revolvers, his own weapon hanging loosely in his 
left hand. Then, smiling, he said a little bitterly : 

44 4 Heroics are not in my line, McGregor. I 
suppose this is a popular rising — that is to say, you 
have bribed my men, murdered my best friend, 
and beguiled me with the lures of that * 

44 1 could not bear the words that hung on his lips, 
and with a sob I fell on a sofa and hid my face. 

44 4 Well, we mustn’t use hard names, 5 he went 
on, in a gentler tone. 4 We are all as God made 
us. I give in, 5 and, throwing down his weapon, 
he asked, 4 Have you quite killed Carr ? 5 

44 4 1 don’t know, 5 said the colonel, implying 
plainly that he did not care either. 

44 4 1 suppose it was you that shot him ? 5 

44 The colonel nodded. 

44 The President yawned, and looked at his watch. 

44 4 As I have no part in to-night’s performance,’ 
said he, 4 1 presume I am at liberty to go to bed ? ’ 

44 The colonel said shortly : 

44 4 Where’s the bedroom ? 5 

44 4 In there, 5 said the President, waving his hand 
to a door facing that by which the colonel had en- 
tered. 

44 ‘Permit me,’ said the latter. He went in, no 
doubt to see if there were any other egress. Re- 
turning shortly he said : 

44 4 My men must stay here, and you must leave 
the door open. 5 


82 


TWO SURPRISES 


“ ‘I have no objection,’ said the President. ‘No 
doubt they will respect my modesty. ’ 

“ ‘ Two of you stay in this room. Two of you 
keep watch in the veranda, one at this window, the 
other at the bedroom window. I shall put three 
more sentries outside. General Whittingham is 
not to leave this room. If you hear or see any- 
thing going on in there, go in and put him under 
restraint. Otherwise treat him with respect.’ 

“ ‘ I thank you for your civility,’ said the Presi- 
dent, ‘also for the compliment implied in these 
precautions. Is it over this matter of the debt 
that your patriotism has drawn you into revolt ? ’ 

“ ‘ I see no use in discussing public affairs at this 
moment,’ the colonel replied. ‘ And my presence 
is required elsewhere. I regret that I cannot re- 
lieve you of the presence of these men, but I do 
not feel I should be justified in accepting your 
parole .’ 

“ The President did not seem to be angered at 
this insult. 

“ ‘ I have not offered it,’ he said simply. ‘ It is 
better you should take your own measures. Need 
I detain you, colonel ? ’ 

“ The colonel did not answer him, but turned to 
me and said : 

“ 6 Signorina Nugent, we wait only for you, and 
time is precious.’ 

“‘I will follow you in a moment,’ I said, with 
my head still among the cushions. 

“‘No, come now,’ he commanded. 

“ Looking up, I saw a smile on the President’s 
face. As I rose reluctantly, he also got up from 
the chair into which he had flung himself, and 
stopped me with a gesture. I was terribly afraid 
83 


A MAN OF MARK 


that he was going to say something hard to me, 
but his voice only expressed a sort of amused pity. 

44 4 The money, was it, signorina ? ’ he said. 
4 Young people and beautiful people should not be 
mercenary. Poor child ! you had better have stood 
by me.’ 

44 1 answered him nothing, but went out with the 
colonel, leaving him seated again in his chair, sur- 
veying with some apparent amusement the two 
threatening sentries who stood at the door. The 
colonel hurried me out of the house, saying : 

44 4 We must ride to the barracks. If the news 
gets there before us, they may cut up rough. You 
go home. Your work is done.’ 

44 So they mounted and rode away, leaving me in 
the road. There were no signs of any struggle, ex- 
cept the door hanging loose on its hinges, and a 
drop or two of blood on the steps where they had 
shot poor Johnny Carr. I went straight home, and 
what happened in the next few hours at the Golden 
House I don’t know, and, knowing how I left the 
President, I cannot explain. I went home, and 
cried till I thought my heart would break.” 

Thus far the signorina. I must beg to call 
special attention to the closing lines of her narra- 
tive. But before I relate the very startling occur- 
rence to which she refers, we must return to the 
barracks, where, it will be remembered, matters 
were in a rather critical condition. When the 
officers saw their messroom suddenly filled with 
armed men, and heard the alarming order issued by 
the colonel, their attention was effectually diverted 
from me. They crowded together on one side of 
the table, facing the colonel and his men on the 
other. Assisted by the two men sent to my aid, I 
84 


TWO SURPRISES 


seized the opportunity to push my way through 
them and range myself by the side of my leader. 
After a moment’s pause the colonel began : 

“ The last thing we should desire, gentlemen,” he 
said, “ is to resort to force. But the time for ex- 
planation is short. The people of Aureataland 
have at last risen against the tyranny they have so 
long endured. General Whittingham has proved 
a traitor to the cause of freedom ; he won his posi- 
tion in the name of liberty ; he has used it to destroy 
liberty. The voice of the people has declared him 
to have forfeited his high office. The people have 
placed in my hand the sword of vengeance. Armed 
with this mighty sanction, I have appealed to the 
army. The army has proved true to its traditions 
— true to its character of the protector, not the op- 
pressor, of the people. Gentlemen, will you who 
lead the army take your proper place ? ” 

There was no reply to this moving appeal. He 
advanced closer to them, and went on : 

“ There is no middle way. You are patriots or 
traitors — friends of liberty or friends of tyranny. I 
stand here to offer you either a traitor’s death, or, 
if you will, life, honour, and the satisfaction of all 
your just claims. Do you mistrust the people ? I, 
as their representative, here offer you every just 
due the people owes you — debts which had long 
been paid but for the greed of that great traitor.” 

As he said this he took from his men some bags 
of money, and threw them on the table with a loud 
chink. 

Major DeChair glanced at the bags, and glanced 
at his comrades, and said : 

“ In the cause of liberty God forbid we should be 
behind. Down with the tyrant! ” 

85 


A MAN OF MARK 


And all the pack yelped in chorus ! 

44 Then, gentlemen, to the head of your men,” 
said the colonel, and going to the window, he cried 
to the throng : 

44 Men, your noble officers are with us.” 

A cheer answered him. I wiped my forehead, and 
said to myself, “That’s well over.” 

I will not weary the reader with our further pro- 
ceedings. Suffice it to say we marshalled our host 
and marched down to the Piazza. The news had 
spread by now, and in the dimly breaking morn- 
ing light we saw the Square full of people — men, 
women, and children. As we marched in there 
was a cheer, not very hearty — a cheer propitiatory, 
for they did not know what we meant to do. The 
colonel made them a brief speech, promising peace, 
security, liberty, plenty, and all the goods of 
heaven. In a few stern words he cautioned them 
against 44 treachery,” and announced that any re- 
bellion against the Provisional Government would 
meet with swift punishment. Then he posted his 
army in companies, to keep watch till all was quiet. 
And at last he said : 

44 Now, Martin, come back to the Golden House, 
and let’s put that fellow in a safe place.” 

44 Yes,” said I ; 44 and have a look for the money.” 
For really, in the excitement, it seemed as if there 
was a danger of the most important thing of all 
being forgotten. 

The dawn was now far advanced, and as we left 
the Piazza, we could see the Golden House at the 
other end of the avenue. All looked quiet, and the 
sentries were gently pacing to and fro. Drawing 
nearer, we saw two or three of the President’s 
servants busied about their ordinary tasks. One 
86 


TWO SURPRISES 


woman was already deleting Johnny Carr’s life- 
blood with a mop and a pail of water ; and a car- 
penter was at work repairing the front-door. Stand- 
ing by it was the doctor’s brougham. 

44 Come to see Carr, I suppose,” said I. 

Leaving our horses to the care of the men who 
were with us we entered the house. Just inside 
we met the doctor himself. He was a shrewd little 
fellow, named Anderson, generally popular and, 
though a personal friend of the President’s, not 
openly identified with either political party. 

44 1 have a request to make to you, sir,” he said to 
McGregor, 44 about Mr. Carr.” 

44 Well, is he dead? ” said the colonel. 44 If he is, 
he’s got only himself to thank for it.” 

The doctor wisely declined to discuss this ques- 
tion, and confined himself to stating that Johnny 
was not dead. On the contrary, he was going on 
nicely. 

44 But,” he went on, 44 quiet is essential, and I 
want to take him to my house, out of the racket. 
No doubt it is pretty quiet here now, but ” 

The colonel interrupted : 

44 Will he give his parole not to escape ? ” 

44 My dear sir,” said the doctor, 44 the man couldn’t 
move to save his life — and he’s asleep now.” 

44 You must wake him up to move him, I sup- 
pose,” said the colonel. 44 But you may take him. 
Let me know when he’s well enough to see me. 
Meanwhile I hold you responsible for his good 
behaviour.” 

44 Certainly,” said the doctor. 44 1 am content to 
be responsible for Mr. Carr.” 

“All right; take him and get out. Now for 
Whittingham ! ” 

21 


87 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ Hadn’t we better get the money first ? ” said I. 

“ Damn the money ! ” he replied. 4 4 But I tell 
you what — I must have a bit of food. I’ve tasted 
nothing for twelve hours.” 

One of the servants hearing him, said : 

44 Breakfast can be served in a moment, sir.” 
And he ushered us into the large dining-room, 
where we soon had an excellent meal. 

When we had got through most of it, I broke 
the silence by asking : 

44 What are you going to do with him ? ” 

44 1 should like to shoot him,” said the colonel. 

44 On what charge ? ” 

44 Treachery,” he replied. 

I smiled. 

44 That would hardly do, would it ? ” 

44 Well, then, embezzlement of public funds.” 

We had a little talk about the President’s des- 
tiny, and I tried to persuade the colonel to milder 
measures. In fact, I was determined to prevent 
such a murder if I could without ruin to myself. 

44 W ell, we’ll consider it when we’ve seen him,” 
said the colonel, rising and lighting a cigarette. 
44 By Jove ! we’ve wasted an hour breakfasting — 
it’s seven o’clock.” 

I followed him along the passage, and we entered 
the little room where we had left the President. 
The sentries were still there, each seated in an 
arm-chair. They were not asleep, but looked a 
little drowsy. 

44 All right ? ” said the colonel. 

44 Yes, Excellency,” said one of them. 44 He is 
in there in bed.” 

He went into the inner room and began to undo 
the shutters, letting in the early sun. 

88 


TWO SURPRISES 


We passed through the half-opened door and 
saw a peaceful figure lying in the bed, whence pro- 
ceeded a gentle snore. 

“ Good nerve, hasn’t he ? ” said the colonel. 

“Yes; but what a queer night-cap!” I said, 
for the President’s head was swathed in white 
linen. 

The colonel strode quickly up to the bed. 

“ Done, by hell ! ” he cried. “ It’s Johnny 
Carr ! ” 

It was true; there lay Johnny. His Excellency 
was nowhere to be seen. 

The colonel shook Johnny roughly by the arm. 
The latter opened his eyes and said sleepily : 

“ Steady there. Kindly remember I’m a trifle 
fragile.” 

“ What’s this infernal plot? Where’s Whitting- 
ham ? ” 

“ Ah, it’s McGregor,” said Johnny, with a bland 
smile, “ and Martin. How are you, old fellow ? 
Some beast’s hit me on the head.” 

“Where’s Whittingham ? ” reiterated the colonel, 
savagely shaking Johnny’s arm. 

“ Gently ! ” said I ; “ after all, he’s a sick man.” 

The colonel dropped the arm with a muttered 
oath, and Johnny said, sweetly : 

“ Quits, isn’t it, colonel ? ” 

The colonel turned from him, and said to his men 
sternly : 

“ Have you had any hand in this ? ” 

They protested vehemently that they were as 
astonished as we were ; and so they were, unless 
they acted consummately. They denied that any- 
one had entered the outer room or that any sound 
had proceeded from the inner. They swore they 
89 


A MAN OF MARK 


had kept vigilant watch, and must have seen an 
intruder. Both the men inside were the colonel’s 
personal servants, and he believed their honesty; 
but what of their vigilance? 

Carr heard him sternly questioning them, on 
which he said : 

“ Those chaps aren’t to blame, colonel. I didn’t 
come in that way. If you’ll take a look behind 
the bed, you’ll see another door. They brought 
me in there. I was rather queer and only half knew 
what was up.” 

W e looked and saw a door where he said. Push- 
ing the bed aside, we opened it, and found ourselves 
on the back staircase of the premises. Clearly the 
President had noiselessly opened this door and got 
out. But how had Carr got in without noise ? 

The sentry came up, and said : 

44 Every five minutes, sir, I looked and saw him 
on the bed. He lay for the first hour in his clothes. 
The next look, he was undressed. It struck me 
he’d been pretty quick and quiet about it, but I 
thought no more.” 

44 Depend upon it, the dressed man was the 
President, the undressed man Carr ! When was 
that ? ” 

44 About half-past two, sir; just after the doctor 
came.” 

44 The doctor ! ” we cried. 

“Yes, sir; Dr. Anderson.” 

44 You never told me he had been here.” 

44 He never went into the President’s — into Gen- 
eral Whittingham’s room, sir ; but he came in here 
for five minutes, to get some brandy, and stood 
talking with us for a time. Half an hour after he 
came in for some more.” 


90 


TWO SURPRISES 


We began to see how it was done. That 
wretched little doctor was in the plot. Somehow 
or other he had communicated with the President ; 
probably he knew of the door. Then, I fancied, 
they must have worked something in this way. 
The doctor comes in to distract the sentries, while 
his Excellency moves the bed. Finding that they 
took a look every five minutes, he told the Presi- 
dent. Then he went and got Johnny Carr ready. 
Returning, he takes the President’s place on the 
bed, and in that character undergoes an inspection. 
The moment this is over, he leaps up and goes 
out. Between them they bring in Carr, put him 
into bed, and slip out through the narrow space 
of open door behind the bedstead. When all was 
done, the doctor had come back to see if any sus- 
picion had been aroused. 

“ I have it now ! ” cried the colonel. “ That in- 
fernal doctor’s done us both. He couldn’t get 
Whittingham out of the house without leave, so 
he’s taken him as Carr ! Swindled me into giving 
my leave. Ah, look out, if we meet, Mr. Doc- 
tor ! ” 

We rushed out of the house and found this con- 
jecture was true. The man who purported to be 
Carr had been carried out, enveloped in blankets, 
just as we sat down to breakfast; the doctor had 
put him into the carriage, followed himself, and 
driven rapidly away. 

“ Which way did they go ? ” 

“ Toward the harbour, sir,” the sentry replied. 

The harbour could be reached in twenty minutes’ 
fast driving. Without a word the colonel sprang 
on his horse ; I imitated him, and we galloped as 
hard as we could, everyone making way before our 
91 


A MAN OF MARK 


furious charge. Alas ! we were too late. As we 
drew rein on the quay we saw, half a mile out to 
sea and sailing before a stiff breeze, Johnny Carr’s 
little yacht, with the Aureataland flag floating de- 
fiantly at her masthead. 

We gazed at it blankly, with never a word to 
say, and turned our horses’ heads. Our attention 
was attracted by a small group of men standing 
round the storm-signal post. As we rode up, they 
hastily scattered, and we saw pinned to the post a 
sheet of note-paper. Thereupon was written in a 
well-known hand : 

“ I, Marcus W. Whittingham, President of the 
Republic of Aureataland, hereby offer a Reward 
of Five Thousand Dollars and a Free Pardon 
to any person or persons assisting in the Capture, 
Alive or Dead, of George McGregor (late 
Colonel in the Aureataland Army) and John 
Martin, Bank Manager, and I do further pro- 
claim the said George McGregor and John Martin 
to be traitors and rebels against the Republic, and 
do pronounce their lives forfeited. Which sen- 
tence let every loyal citizen observe at his peril. 

“ Marcus W. Whittingham, 

“ President.” 


Truly, this was pleasant ! 


92 


CHAPTER XI 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 

The habit of reading having penetrated, as we are 
told, to all classes of the community, I am not 
without hope that some who peruse this chronicle 
will be able, from personal experience, to under- 
stand the feelings of a man when he first finds a 
reward offered for his apprehension. It is true 
that our police are not in the habit of imitating 
the President’s naked brutality by expressly adding 
“ Alive or Dead,” but I am informed that the law, 
in case of need, leaves the alternative open to the 
servants of justice. I am not ashamed to confess 
that my spirits were rather dashed by his Excel- 
lency’s Parthian shot, and I could see that the 
colonel himself was no less perturbed. The escape 
of Fleance seemed to Macbeth to render his whole 
position unsafe, and no one who knew General 
Whittingham will doubt that he was a more dan- 
gerous opponent than Fleance . We both felt, in 
fact, as soon as we saw the white sail of The 
Songstress bearing our enemy out of our reach, 
that the revolution could not yet be regarded as 
safely accomplished. But the uncertainty of our 
tenure of power did not paralyse our energies ; on 
the contrary, we determined to make hay while 
the sun shone, and, if Aureataland was doomed to 
succumb once more to tyranny, I, for one, was 
very clear that her temporary emancipation might 
be turned to good account. 

Accordingly, on arriving again at the Golden 
93 


A MAN OF MARK 


House, we lost no time in instituting a thorough 
inquiry into the state of the public finances. We 
ransacked the house from top to bottom and found 
nothing! Was it possible that the President had 
carried off with him all the treasure that had in- 
spired our patriotic efforts ? The thought was too 
horrible. The drawers of his escritoire and the 
safe that stood in his library revealed nothing to 
our eager eyes. A foraging party, despatched to 
the Ministry of Finance (where, by the way, they 
did not find Don Antonio or his fair daughter), re- 
turned with the discouraging news that nothing 
was visible but ledgers and bills (not negotiable 
securities — the other sort). In deep dejection I 
threw myself into his Excellency’s chair and lit 
one of his praiseworthy cigars with the doleful re- 
flection that this pleasure seemed all I was likely 
to get out of the business. The colonel stood 
moodily with his back to the fireplace, looking at 
me as if I were responsible for the state of things. 

At this point in came the signorina. We greeted 
her gloomily, and she was as startled as ourselves 
at the news of the President’s escape ; at the same 
time I thought I detected an undercurrent of re- 
lief, not unnatural if we recollect her personal rela- 
tions with the deposed ruler. When, however, we 
went on to break to her the nakedness of the land, 
she stopped us at once. 

“ Oh, you stupid men ! you haven’t looked in 
the right place. I suppose you expected to find 
it laid out for you on the dining-room table. Come 
with me.” 

We followed her into the room where Carr lay. 
He was awake, and the signorina went and asked 
him how he was. Then she continued ; 

94 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 


“We shall have to disturb you for a few min- 
utes, Mr. Carr. You don’t mind, do you? ” 

“ Must I get out of bed ? ” asked Johnny. 

“Certainly not while I’m here,” said the sig- 
norina. “ You’ve only got to shut your eyes and 
lie still ; but w T e’re going to make a little noise.” 

There was in the room, as perhaps might be ex- 
pected, a washing-stand. This article was of the 
description one often sees; above the level of 
the stand itself there rose a wooden screen to the 
height of two feet and a half, covered with pretty 
tiles, the presumable object being to protect the 
wall paper. I never saw a more innocent-looking 
bit of furniture ; it might have stood in a lady’s 
dressing-room. The signorina went up to it and 
slid it gently on one side ; it moved in a groove ! 
Then she pressed a spot in the wall behind and a 
small piece of it rolled aside, disclosing a key- 
hole. 

“ He’s taken the key, of course,” she said. “We 
must break it open. Who’s got a hammer ? ” 

Tools were procured, and, working under the 
signorina’s directions, after a good deal of trouble, 
we laid bare a neat little safe embedded in the wall. 
This safe was legibly inscribed on the outside 
“ Burglar’s Puzzle.” We, however, were not afraid 
of making a noise, and it only puzzled us for ten 
minutes. 

When opened it revealed a Golconda ! There 
lay in securities and cash no less than five hundred 
thousand dollars ! 

We smiled at one another. 

“ A sad revelation ! ” I remarked. 

“ Hoary old fox ! ” said the colonel. 

No wonder the harbour works were unremunera- 
95 


A MAN OF MARK 


tive in their early stages. The President must 
have kept them at a very early stage. 

“ What are you people up to ? ” cried Carr. 

“ Rank burglary, my dear boy,” I replied, and 
we retreated with our spoil. 

“Now,” said I to the colonel, “what are you 
going to do ? ” 

“ Why, what do you think, Mr. Martin ? ” inter- 
posed the signorina. “ He’s going to give you 
your money, and divide the rest with his sincere 
friend Christina Nugent.” 

“ Well, I suppose so,” said the colonel. “ But it 
strikes me you’re making a good thing of this, 
Martin.” 

“ My dear colonel,” said I, “ a bargain is a bar- 
gain ; and where would you have been without my 
money ? ” 

The colonel made no reply, but handed me the 
money, which I liked much better. I took the three 
hundred and twenty thousand dollars and said : 

“ Now, I can face the world, an honest man.” 

The signorina laughed. 

“ I am glad,” she said, “ chiefly for poor old 
Jones’ sake. It’ll take a load off his mind.” 

The colonel proceeded to divide the remainder 
into two little heaps, of which he pushed one over 
to the signorina. She took it gayly, and said : 

“ Now I shall make curl papers of half my bonds, 
and I shall rely on the — what do you call it ? — the 
Provisional Government to pay the rest. You re- 
member about the house ? ” 

“ I’ll see about that soon,” said the colonel im- 
patiently. “ You two seem to think there’s noth- 
ing to do but take the money. You forget we’ve 
got to make our position safe.” 

96 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 


“ Exactly. The colonel’s government must be 
carried on,” said I. 

The signorina did not catch the allusion. She 
yawned, and said : 

“ Oh, then, I shall go. Pely on my loyalty, your 
Excellency.” 

She made him a courtesy and went to the door. 
As I opened it for her she whispered, “ Horrid old 
bear ! Come and see me, Jack,” and so vanished, 
carrying off her dollars. 

I returned and sat down opposite the colonel. 

“ I wonder how she knew about the washing- 
stand,” I remarked. 

“ Because Whittingham was fool enough to tell 
her, I suppose,” said the colonel testily, as if he dis- 
liked the subject. 

Then we settled to business. This unambitious 
tale does not profess to be a complete history of 
Aureataland, and I will spare my readers the re- 
cital of our discussion. We decided at last that 
matters were still so critical, owing to the Presi- 
dent’s escape, that the ordinary forms of law and 
constitutional government must be temporarily 
suspended. The Chamber was not in session, 
which made this course easier. The colonel was to 
be proclaimed President and to assume supreme 
power under martial law for some weeks, while we 
looked about us. It was thought better that my 
name should not appear officially, but I agreed to 
take in hand, under his supervision, all matters re- 
lating to finance. 

“We can’t pay the interest on the real debt,” he 
said. 

“No,” I replied; “you must issue a notice, set- 
ting forth that, owing to General Whittingham’s 
97 


A MAN OF MARK 


malversations, payments must be temporarily sus- 
pended. Promise it will be all right later on.” 

“Very good,” said he; “and now I shall go and 
look up those officers. I must keep them in good 
temper, and the men too. I shall give ’em another 
ten thousand.” 

“ Generous hero ! ” said I, “ and I shall go and 
restore this cash to my employers.” 

It was twelve o’clock when I left the Golden 
House and strolled quietly down to Liberty Street. 
The larger part of the soldiers had been drawn off, 
but a couple of companies still kept guard in the 
Piazza. The usual occupations of life were going 
on amid a confused stir of excitement, and I saw 
by the interest my appearance aroused that some 
part at least of my share in the night’s doing had 
leaked out. The Gazette had published a special 
edition, in which it hailed the advent of freedom, 
and, while lauding McGregor to the skies, bestowed 
a warm commendation on the “ noble Englishman 
who, with a native love of liberty, had taken on 
himself the burden of Aureataland in her hour of 
travail.” The metaphor struck me as inappropri- 
ate, but the sentiment was most healthy; and 
when I finally beheld tw r o officers of police sitting 
on the head of a drunken man for toasting the 
fallen regime , I could say to myself, as I turned 
into the bank, “ Order reigns in Warsaw.” 

General assent had proclaimed a suspension of 
commerce on this auspicious day, and I found 
Jones sitting idle and ill at ease. I explained to 
him the state of affairs, showing how the Presi- 
dent’s dishonourable scheme had compelled me, in 
the interests of the bank, to take a more or less 
active part in the revolution. It was pathetic to 
98 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 


hear him bewail the villainy of the man he had 
trusted, and when I produced the money he blessed 
me fervently, and at once proposed writing to the 
directors a full account of the matter. 

“They are bound to vote you an honorarium, 
sir,” he said. 

“ I don’t know, Jones,” I replied. “ I am afraid 
there is a certain prejudice against me at head- 
quarters. But in any case I have resolved to forego 
the personal advantage that might accrue to me 
from my conduct. President McGregor has made 
a strong representation to me that the schemes of 
General Whittingham, if publicly known, would, 
however unjustly, prejudice the credit of Aureata- 
land, and he appealed to me not to give particulars 
to the world. In matters such as these, Jones, 
we cannot be guided solely by selfish considera- 
tions.” 

“ God forbid, sir! ” said Jones, much moved. 

“ I have, therefore, consented to restrict myself 
to a confidential communication to the directors; 
they must judge how far they will pass it on to 
the shareholders. To the world at large I shall say 
nothing of the second loan ; and I know you will 
oblige me by treating this money as the product 
of realisations in the ordinary course of business. 
The recent disturbances will quite account for so 
large a sum being called in.” 

“ I don’t quite see how I can arrange that.” 

“Ah, you are overdone,” said I. “ Leave it all 
to me, Jones.” 

And this I persuaded him to do. In fact, he 
was so relieved at seeing the money back that he 
was easy to deal with; and if he suspected any- 
thing, he was overawed by my present exalted po- 
99 


A MAN OF MARK 


sition. He appeared to forget what I could not, 
that the President, no doubt, still possessed that 
fatal cable ! 

After lunch I remembered my engagement with 
the signorina, and, putting on my hat, was bidding 
farewell to business, when Jones said : 

46 There’s a note just come for you, sir. A little 
boy brought it while you were out at lunch.” 

He gave it me — a little dirty envelope, with an 
illiterate scrawl. I opened it carelessly, but as my 
eye fell on the President’s hand, I started in amaze- 
ment. The note was dated 44 Saturday — From on 
board The Songstress ,” and ran as follows : 

44 Dear Mr. Martin : I must confess to having 
underrated your courage and abilities. If you care 
to put them at my disposal now, I will accept 
them. In the other event, I must refer you to my 
public announcement. In any case it may be use- 
ful to you to know that McGregor designs to 
marry Signorina Nugent. I fear that on my re- 
turn it will be hardly consistent with my public 
duties to spare your life (unless you accept my 
present offer), but I shall always look back to your 
acquaintance with pleasure. I have, if you will 
allow me to say so, seldom met a young man with 
such natural gifts for finance and politics. I shall 
anchor five miles out from Whittingham to-night 
(for I know you have no ships), and if you join me, 
well and good. If not, I shall consider your de- 
cision irrevocable. 

44 Believe me, dear Mr. Martin, faithfully yours, 

44 Marcus W. Whittingham, 

44 President of the Republic 
of Aureataland.” 

100 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 


It is a pleasant thing, as has been remarked, lau- 
dari a laudato viro , and the Presidents praise was 
grateful to me. But I did not see my way to fall 
in with his views. He said nothing about the 
money, but I knew well that its return would be a 
condition of any alliance between us. Again, I 
was sure that he also “ designed to marry the sig- 
norina,” and, if I must have a rival on the spot, I 
preferred McGregor in that capacity. Lastly, I 
thought that, after all, there is a decency in things, 
and I had better stick to my party. I did not, 
however, tell McGregor about the letter, merely 
sending him a line to say I had heard that The 
Songstress was hovering a few miles off, and he 
had better look out. 

This done, I resumed my interrupted progress to 
the signorina’s. When I was shown in, she greeted 
me kindly. 

“ I have had a letter from the President,” I said. 

“Yes,” said she, “he told me he had written to 
you.” 

“ Why, have you heard from him? ” 

“ Yes, just a little note. He is rather cross with 
me.” 

“ I can quite understand that. Would you like 
to see my letter? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she replied carelessly. 

She read it through and asked : 

“ Well, are you going over to him — going to for- 
sake me? ” 

“How can you ask me? Won’t you show me 
your letter, Christina ? ” 

“ No, John,” she answered, mimicking my impas- 
sioned tones. “ I may steal the President’s sav- 
ings, but I respect his confidence.” 

101 


A MAN OF MARK 


“You see what he says to me about McGregor.” 

“ Yes,” said the signorina. “ It is not, you know, 
news to me. But, curious to relate, the colonel 
has just been here himself and told me the same 
thing. The colonel has not a nice way of making 
love, Jack — not so nice as yours nearly.” 

Thus encouraged, I went and sat down by her. 
I believe I took her hand. 

“ You don’t love him? ” 

“ Not at all,” she replied. 

I must beg to be excused recording the exact 
terms in which I placed my hand and heart at the 
signorina’s disposal. I was extremely vehement 
and highly absurd, but she did not appear to be 
displeased. 

“ I like you very much, Jack,” she said, “ and it’s 
very sweet of you to have made a revolution for 
me. It was for me, Jack? ” 

“ Of course it was, my darling,” I promptly re- 
plied. 

“ But you know, Jack, I don’t see how were 
much better off. Indeed, in a way it’s worse. 
The President wouldn’t let anybody else marry 
me, but he wasn’t so peremptory as the colonel. 
The colonel declares he will marry me this day 
week ! ” 

“ W e’ll see about that,” said I savagely. 

“Another revolution, Jack?” asked the signo- 
rina. 

“You needn’t laugh at me,” I said sulkily. 

“Poor boy! What are we idyllic lovers to do?” 

“ I don’t believe you’re a bit in earnest.” 

“Yes, I am, Jack — now.” Then she went on, 
with a sort of playful pity, “Look at my savage, 
jealous, broken-hearted Jack.” 

102 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 

I caught her in my arms and kissed her, whisper- 
ing hotly: 

“ You will be true to me, sweet ? ” 

“ Let me go ,' 5 she said. Then, leaning over me 
as I flung myself back in a chair, “It’s pleasant 
while it lasts ; try not to be broken-hearted if it 
doesn’t last.” 

“ If you love me, why don 7 t you come with me 
out of this sink of iniquity ? ” 

44 Run away with you ? ” she asked, with open 
amazement. “Do you think that we’re the sort 
of people for a romantic elopement? I am very 
earthy. And so are you, Jack, dear — nice earth, 
but earth, Jack.” 

There was a good deal of truth in this remark. 
We were not an ideal pair for love in a cottage. 

“ Yes,” I said. 44 I’ve got no money.” 

44 I’ve got a little money, but not much. I’ve 
been paying debts,” she added proudly. 

44 I haven’t been even doing that. And I’m not 
quite equal to purloining that three hundred thou- 
sand dollars.” 

44 We must wait, Jack. But this I will promise. 
I’ll never marry the colonel. If it comes to that or 
running away, we’ll run away. ” 

44 And Whittingham ? ” 

The signorina for once looked grave. 

“You know him,” she said. 44 Think what he 
made you do ! and you’re not a weak man, or I 
shouldn’t be fond of you. Jack, you must keep him 
away from me.” 

She was quite agitated ; and it was one more 
tribute to the President’s powers that he should ex- 
ert so strange an influence over such a nature. I 
was burning to ask her more about herself and the 

22 103 


A MAN OF MARK 


President, but I could not while she was distressed. 
And when I had comforted her, she resolutely de- 
clined to return to the subject. 

“ No, go away now,” she said. “ Think how we 
are to checkmate our two Presidents. And, Jack ! 
whatever happens, I got you back the money. I’ve 
done you some good. So be kind to me. I’m not 
very much afraid of your heart breaking. In fact, 
Jack, we are neither of us good young people. 
No, no ; be quiet and go away. You have plenty 
of useful things to occupy your time.” 

At last I accepted my dismissal and walked off, 
my happiness considerably damped by the awkward 
predicament in which we stood. Clearly McGregor 
meant business ; and at this moment McGregor 
was all-powerful. If he kept the reins, I should 
lose my love. If the President came back, a worse 
fate still threatened. Supposing it were possible to 
carry off the signorina, which I doubted very much, 
where were we to go to ? And would she come ? 

On the whole, I did not think she would come. 


104 


CHAPTER XII 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 

In spite of my many anxieties, after this eventful 
day I enjoyed the first decent night’s rest I had had 
for a week. The colonel refused, with an unneces- 
sary ostentation of scorn, my patriotic offer to keep 
watch and ward over the city, and I turned in, 
tired out, at eleven o’clock, after a light dinner and 
a meditative pipe. I felt I had some reasons for 
self-congratulation ; for considerable as my present 
difficulties were, yet I undoubtedly stood in a more 
hopeful position than I had before the revolution. 
I was now resolved to get my money safe out of 
the country, and I had hopes of being too much for 
McGregor in the other matter which shared my 
thoughts. 

The return of day, however, brought new 
troubles. I was roused at an early hour by a visit 
from the colonel himself. He brought very dis- 
quieting tidings. In the course of the night every 
one of our proclamations had been torn down or 
defaced with ribald scribblings ; posted over or 
alongside them, there now hung multitudinous en- 
larged copies of the President’s offensive notice. 
How or by whom these seditious measures had been 
effected we were at a loss to tell, for the officers 
and troops were loud in declaring their vigilance. 
In the very centre of the Piazza, on the base of the 
President’s statue, was posted an enormous bill: 
“ Remember 1871 ! Death to Traitors ! ” 

“ How could they do that unless the soldiers 

105 


A MAN OF MARK 


were in it ? ” asked the colonel gloomily. “ I have 
sent those two companies back to barracks and had 
another lot out. But how do I know they’ll be any 
better ? I met DeChair just now and asked him 
what the temper of the troops was. The little brute 
grinned, and said, 4 Ah, mon President, it would be 
better if the good soldiers had a leetle more money.’ ” 

“ That’s about it,” said I ; 44 but then you haven’t 
got much more money.” 

44 What I’ve got I mean to stick to,” said the 
colonel. 44 If this thing is going to burst up, I’m not 
going to be kicked out to starve. I tell you what 
it is, Martin, you must let me have some of that 
cash back again.” 

The effrontery of this request amazed me. I 
was just drawing on the second leg of my trousers 
(for it was impossible to be comfortable in bed with 
that great creature fuming about), and I stopped 
with one leg in mid-air and gazed at him. 

44 Well, what’s the matter? Why are you to 
dance out with all the plunder? ” he asked. 

The man’s want of ordinary morality was too re- 
volting. Didn’t he know very well that the money 
wasn’t mine ? Didn’t he himself obtain my help 
on the express terms that I should have this money 
to repay the bank with ? I finished putting on my 
garments, and then I replied : 

44 Not a farthing, colonel ; not a damned farthing! 
By our agreement that cash was to be mine ; but 
for that I wouldn’t have touched your revolution 
with a pair of tongs.” 

He looked very savage, and muttered something 
under his breath. 

44 You’re carrying things with a high hand,” he 
said. 


106 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


“ I rn not going to steal to please you,” said I. 

“ You weren’t always so scrupulous,” he sneered. 

I took no notice of this insult, but repeated my 
determination. 

“ Look here, Martin,” he said, “ I’ll give you 
twenty-four hours to think it over ; and let me ad- 
vise you to change your mind by then. I don’t 
want to quarrel, but I’m going to have some of 
that money.” 

Clearly he had learned statecraft in his predeces- 
sor’s school! “Twenty- four hours is something,” 
thought I, and determined to try the cunning of 
the serpent. 

“ All right, colonel,” I said, “ I’ll think it over. I 
don’t pretend to like it; but, after all, I’m in with 
you and we must pull together. We’ll see how 
things look to-morrow morning. ” 

“There’s another matter I wanted to speak to 
you about,” he went on. 

I was now dressed, so I invited him into the 
breakfast- room, gave him a cup of coffee (which, to 
my credit, I didn’t poison), and began on my own 
eggs and toast. 

“ Fire away,” said I briefly. 

“ I suppose you know I’m going to be married? ” 
he remarked. 

“No, I hadn’t heard,” I replied, feigning to be 
entirely occupied with a very nimble egg. “ Rather 
a busy time for marrying, isn’t it? Who is she?” 

He gave a heavy laugh. 

“You needn’t pretend to be so very innocent; I 
expect you could give a pretty good guess.” 

“ Mme. Devarges? ” I asked blandly. “ Suitable 
match ; about your age ” 

“I wish to the devil you wouldn’t try to be 
107 


A MAN OF MARK 


funny!” he exclaimed. “You know as well as I 
do it’s the signorina.” 

“Really?” I replied. “Well, well! I fancied 
you were a little touched in that quarter. And she 
has consented to make you happy ? ” 

I was curious to see what he would say. I knew 
he was a bad liar, and, as a fact, I believe he told 
the truth on this occasion, for he answered : 

“ Says she never cared a straw for anyone else.” 

Oh, signorina! 

“ Not even Whittingham ? ” I asked maliciously. 

“ Hates the old ruffian ! ” said the colonel. “ 1 
once thought she had a liking for you, Martin, but 
she laughed at the idea. I’m glad of it, for we 
should have fallen out.” 

I smiled in a somewhat sickly way, and took 
refuge in my cup. When I emerged, I asked : 

“ And when is it to be ? ” 

“Next Saturday.” 

“ So soon ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said. “ Fact is, between you and me, 
Martin, she’s ready enough.” 

This was too disgusting. But whether the colonel 
was deceiving me, or the signorina had deceived 
him, I didn’t know — a little bit of both, probably. 
I saw, however, what the colonel’s game was plainly 
enough ; he was, in his clumsy way, warning me 
off his preserves, for, of course, he knew my pre- 
tensions, and probably that they had met with 
some success, and I don’t think I imposed on him 
very much. But I was anxious to avoid a rupture 
and gain time. 

“ I must call and congratulate the lady,” I said. 

The colonel couldn’t very well object to that, 
but he didn’t like it. 


108 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


“ Well, Christina told me she was very busy, but 
I dare say shell see you for a few minutes.” 

“ I dare say she will,” I said dryly. 

“ I must be off now. I shall have to be about 
all day, trying to catch those infernal fellows who 
destroyed the bills.” 

“ You won’t be doing any business to-day, then? ” 

“ What, about settling the Government? ” he 
asked, grinning. “Not just yet. Wait till I’ve 
got the signorina and the money, and then we’ll see 
about that. You think about the money, my 
boy ! ” 

Much to my relief he then departed, and as he 
went out I swore that neither signorina nor money 
should he ever have. In the course of the next 
twenty-four hours I must find a way to prevent 
him. 

“ Rather early for a call,” said I, “ but I must 
see the signorina.” 

On my way up I met several people, and heard 
some interesting facts. In the first place, no trace 
had appeared of Don Antonio and his daughter; 
rumour declared that they had embarked on The 
Songstress with the President and his faithful doctor. 
Secondly, Johnny Carr was still in bed at the 
Golden House (this from Mme. Devarges, who had 
been to see him) ; but his men had disappeared, after 
solemnly taking the oath to the new Government. 
Item three : The colonel had been received with 
silence and black looks by the troops, and two 
officers had vanished into space, both Americans, 
and the only men of any good in a fight. Things 
were looking rather blue, and I began to think that 
I also should like to disappear, provided I could 
carry off my money and my mistress with me. My 
109 


A MAN OF MARK 


scruples about loyalty had been removed by the 
colonel’s overbearing conduct, and I was ready for 
any step that promised me the fulfilment of my 
own designs. It was pretty evident that there 
would be no living with McGregor in his present 
frame of mind, and I was convinced that my best 
course would be to cut the whole thing, or, if that 
proved impossible, to see what bargain I could 
make with the President. Of course, all would go 
smoothly with him if I gave up the dollars and the 
lady; a like sacrifice would conciliate McGregor. 
But then, I didn’t mean to make it. 

“ One or other I will have,” said I, as I knocked 
at the door of “ Mon Repos,” “ and both if possi- 
ble.” 

The signorina was looking worried; indeed, I 
thought she had been crying. 

“ Did you meet my aunt on your way up ? ” she 
asked, the moment I was announced. 

“No,” said I. 

“ I’ve sent her away,” she continued. “ All this 
fuss frightens her, so I got the colonel’s leave (for 
you know we mustn’t move without permission now 
liberty has triumphed) for her to seek change 
of air.” 

“ Where’s she going to ? ” I said. 

“ Home,” said the signorina. 

I didn’t know where “ home ” was, but I never 
ask what I am not meant to know. 

“ Are you left alone ? ” 

“ Yes. I know it’s not correct. But you see, 
Jack, I had to choose between care for my money 
and care for my reputation. The latter is always 
safe in my own keeping; the former I wasn’t so 
sure about.” 


no 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


“ Oh, so you’ve given it to Mrs. Carrington ? ” 

“ Yes, all but five thousand dollars.” 

“ Does the colonel know that ? ” 

“ Dear me, of course not! or he’d never have 
let her go.” 

“You’re very wise,” said I. “I only wish I 
could have sent my money with her.” 

“I’m afraid that would have made dear aunt 
rather bulky,” said the signorina, tittering. 

“ Yes, such a lot of mine’s in cash,” I said regret- 
fully. “ But won’t they find it on her ? ” 

“Not if they’re gentlemen,” replied the signor- 
ina darkly. 

Evidently I could not ask for further details ; so, 
without more ado, I disclosed my own perilous 
condition and the colonel’s boasts about herself. 

“ What a villain that man is ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Of course, I was civil to him, but I didn’t say 
half that. You didn’t believe I did, Jack?” 

There’s never any use in being unpleasant, so I 
said I had rejected the idea with scorn. 

“ But what’s to be done ? If I’m here to-mor- 
row, he’ll take the money, and, as likely as not, 
cut my throat if I try to stop him.” 

“Yes, and he’ll marry me,” chimed in the sig- 
norina. “Jack, we must have a counter-revolu- 
tion.” 

“ I don’t see what good that’ll do,” I answered 
dolefully. “ The President will take the money 
just the same, and I expect he’ll marry you just 
the same.” 

“ Of the two, I would rather have him. Now 
don’t rage, Jack! I only said, ‘of the two.’ But 
you’re quite right; it couldn’t help us much to 
bring General Whittingham back.” 

ill 


A MAN OF MARK 


“ To say nothing of the strong probability of my 
perishing in the attempt.” 

“ Let me think,” said the signorina, knitting her 
brows. 

“ May I light a cigarette and help you ? ” 

She nodded permission, and I awaited the result 
of her meditation. 

She sat there, looking very thoughtful and 
troubled, but it seemed to me as if she were rather 
undergoing a conflict of feeling than thinking out a 
course of action. Once she glanced at me, then 
turned away with a restless movement and a sigh. 

I finished my cigarette, and flinging it away, 
strolled up to the window to look out. I had stood 
there a little while, when I heard her call softly : 

“ Jack ! ” 

I turned and came to her, kneeling down by her 
side and taking her hands. 

She gazed rather intently into my face with un- 
usual gravity. Then she said : 

“ If you have to choose between me and the 
money, which will it be ? ” 

I kissed her hand for answer. 

“If the money is lost, won’t it all come out? 
And then, won’t they call you dishonest? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said I. 

“ You don’t mind that ? ” 

“ Yes, I do. Nobody likes being called a thief 
— especially when there’s a kind of truth about it. 
But I should mind losing you more.” 

“ Are you really very fond of me, Jack ? No, 
you needn’t say so. I think you are. Now I’ll 
tell you a secret. If you hadn’t come here, I 
should have married General Whittingham long 
ago. I stayed here intending to do it (oh, yes, I’m 
112 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


not a nice girl, Jack), and he asked me very soon 
after you first arrived. I gave him my money, you 
know, then.” 

I was listening intently. It seemed as if some 
things were going to be cleared up. 

“ W ell,” she continued, 44 you know what hap- 
pened. You fell in love with me — I tried to make 
you ; and then I suppose I fell a little in love with 
you. At any rate I told the President I wouldn’t 
marry him just then. Some time after, I wanted 
some money, and I asked him to give me back 
mine. He utterly refused ; you know his quiet way. 
He said he would keep it for 4 Mrs. Whitting- 
ham.’ Oh, I could have killed him ! But I didn’t 
dare to break with him openly ; besides, he’s very 
hard to fight against. We had constant disputes; 
he would never give back the money, and I de- 
clared I wouldn’t marry him unless I had it first, 
and not then unless I chose. He was very angry 
and swore I should marry him without a penny of 
it; and so it went on. But he never suspected 
you, Jack ; not till quite the end. Then we found 
out about the debt, you know ; and about the 
same time I saw he at last suspected something 
between you and me. And the very day before 
we came to the bank he drove me to desperation. 
He stood beside me in this room, and said, 4 Chris- 
tina, I am growing old. I shall wait no longer. I 
believe you’re in love with that young Martin.’ 
Then he apologised for his plain speaking, for he’s 
always gentle in manner. And I defied him. And 
then, Jack, what do you think he did? ” 

I sprang up in a fury. 

44 What ? ” I cried. 

44 He laughed ! ” said the signorina, with tragic 
113 


A MAN OF MARK 


intensity. “ I couldn’t stand that, so I joined the 
colonel in upsetting him. Ah, he shouldn’t have 
laughed at me ! ” 

And indeed she looked at this moment a dan- 
gerous subject for such treatment. 

“ I knew what no one else knew, and I could in- 
fluence him as no one else could, and I had my 
revenge. But now,” she said, “ it all ends in noth- 
ing.” 

And she broke down, sobbing. 

Then, recovering herself, and motioning me to 
be still, she went on : 

“You may think, after holding him at bay so 
long, I have little to fear from the colonel. But 
it’s different. The President has no scruples ; but 
he is a gentleman — as far as women are concerned. 
I mean — he wouldn’t ” 

She stopped. 

“ But McGregor ? ” I asked, in a hoarse whisper. 

She drooped her head on my shoulder. 

“ I daren’t stay here, Jack, with him,” she whis- 
pered. “ If you can’t take me away, I must go to 
the President. I shall be at least safe with him ! ” 

“Damn the ruffian!” I growled; not meaning 
the President, but his successor; “ I’ll shoot him! ” 

“ No, no, Jack ! ” she cried. “ You must be quiet 
and cautious. But I must go to-night — to-night, 
Jack, either with you or to the President.” 

“ My darling, you shall come with me,” said I. 

“ Where ? ” 

“ Oh, out of this somewhere.” 

“ How are we to escape ? ” 

“ Now, you sit down, dear, and try to stop crying 
— you break my heart — and I’ll think. It’s my 
turn now.” 


114 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


I carried her to the sofa, and she lay still, but 
with her eyes fixed on me. I was full of rage 
against McGregor, but I couldn’t afford the luxury 
of indulging it, so I gave my whole mind to finding 
a way out for us. At last I seemed to hit upon a 
plan. 

The signorina saw the inspiration in my eye. 
She jumped up and came to me. 

“ Have you got it, Jack ? ” she said. 

“ I think so — if you will trust yourself to me, 
and don’t mind an uncomfortable night.” 

44 Go on.” 

“ You know my little steam launch ? It will be 
dark to-night. If we can get on board with a 
couple of hours’ start we can show anybody a clean 
pair of heels. She travels a good pace, and it’s 
only fifty miles to safety and foreign soil. I shall 
land there a beggar ! ” 

“ I don’t mind that, Jack,” she said. “ I have 
my five thousand, and aunt will join us with the 
rest. But how are we to get on board ? Besides, 
O Jack! the President watches the coast every 
night with The Songstress — and you know she’s 
got steam — Mr. Carr just had auxiliary steam put 
in.” 

44 No,” I said, 44 1 didn’t know about that. Look 
here, Christina ; excuse the question, but can you 
communicate with the President ? ” 

46 Yes,” she said, after a second’s hesitation. 

This was what I suspected. 

44 And will he believe what you tell him ? ” 

44 1 don’t know. He might and he might not. 
He’ll probably act as if he didn’t.” 

I appreciated the justice of this forecast of Gen- 
eral Whittingham’s measures. 

115 


A MAN OF MARK 


‘‘Well, we must chance it,” I said. “At any 
rate, better be caught by him than stay here. We 
were, perhaps, a little hasty with that revolution of 
ours.” 

“I never thought the colonel was so wicked,” 
said the signorina. 

We had no time to waste in abusing our enemy; 
the question was how to outwit him. I unfolded 
my plan to the signorina, not at all disguising from 
her the difficulties, and even dangers, attendant 
upon it. Whatever may have been her mind be- 
fore and after, she was at this moment either so 
overcome with her fear of the colonel, or so carried 
away by her feeling for me, that she made nothing 
of difficulties and laughed at dangers, pointing out 
that though failure would be ignominious, it could 
not substantially aggravate our present position. 
Whereas, if we succeeded 

The thought of success raised a prospect of bliss 
in which we revelled for a few minutes ; then, 
warned by the stroke of twelve, we returned to 
business. 

“ Are you going to take any of the money away 
with you ? ” she asked. 

“ No,” said I, “ I don’t think so. It would con- 
siderably increase the risk if I were seen hanging 
about the bank ; you know he’s got spies all over 
the place. Besides, what good would it do? I 
couldn’t stick to it, and I’m not inclined to run any 
more risks merely to save the bank’s pocket. The 
bank hasn’t treated me so well as all that. I pro- 
pose to rely on your bounty till I’ve time to turn 
round.” 

“ Now, shall I come for you ? ” I asked her when 
we had arranged the other details. 

116 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


“ I think not,” she said. 44 I believe the colonel 
has one of my servants in his pay. I can slip out 
by myself, but I couldn’t manage so well if you were 
with me. The sight of you would excite curiosity. 
I will meet you at the bottom of Liberty Street.” 

“ At two o’clock in the morning exactly, please. 
Don’t come through the Piazza and Liberty Street. 
Come round by the drive. [This was a sort of 
boulevard encircling the town, where the aristocracy 
was wont to ride and drive.] Things ought to be 
pretty busy about the bank by then, and no one 
will notice you. You have a revolver ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 All right. Don’t hurt anyone if you can help 
it ; but if you do, don’t leave him to linger in agony. 
Now I’m off,” I continued. 44 I suppose I’d better 
not come and see you again ? ” 

44 I’m afraid you mustn’t, Jack. You’ve been here 
two hours already.” 

44 I shall be in my rooms in the afternoon. If 
anything goes wrong, send your carriage down the 
street and have it stopped at the grocer’s. I shall 
take that for a sign.” 

The signorina agreed, and we parted tenderly. 
My last words were : 

44 You’ll send that message to Whittingham at 
once ? ” 

44 This moment,” she said, as she waved me a kiss 
from the door of the room. 


117 


CHAPTER XIII 

I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 

I was evidently in for another day as unpleasantly 
exciting as the one I had spent before the revolu- 
tion, and I reflected sadly that if a man once goes 
in for things of that kind, it’s none so easy to pull 
up. Luckily, however, I had several things to 
occupy me, and was not left to fret the day away 
in idleness. First I turned my steps to the harbour. 
As I went I examined my pockets and found a sum 
total of $950. This was my all, for of late I had 
deemed it wise to carry my fortune on my person. 
Well, this was enough for the present ; the future 
must take care of itself. So I thought to myself 
as I went along with a light heart, my triumph in 
love easily outweighing all the troubles and dangers 
that beset me. Only land me safe out of Aureata- 
land with the signorina by my side, and I asked 
nothing more of fortune ! Let the dead bury their 
dead, and the bank look after its dollars ! 

Thus musing, I came to the boat-house where 
my launch lay. She was a tidy little boat, and had 
the advantage of being workable by one man with- 
out any difficulty. All I had to arrange was how 
to embark in her unperceived. I summoned the 
boatman in charge, and questioned him closely 
about the probable state of the weather. He con- 
fidently assured me it would be fine but dark. 

“Very well,” said I, “I shall go fishing; start 
overnight, and have a shy at them at sunrise.” 

118 


I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 

The man was rather astonished at my unwonted 
energy, but of course made no objection. 

“ What time shall you start, sir? ” he asked. 

“ I want her ready by two,” said I. 

“ Do you want me to go with you, sir? ” 

I pretended to consider, and then told him, to 
his obvious relief, that I could dispense with his 
services. 

“ Leave her at the end of your jetty,” I said, 
“ready for me. She’ll be all safe there, won’t 

she ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, sir. Nobody’ll be about, except the 
sentries, and they won’t touch her.” 

I privately hoped that not even the sentries 
would be about, but I didn’t say so. 

“ Of course, sir, I shall lock the gate. You’ve 
got your key? ” 

“ Yes, all right, and here you are — and much 
obliged for your trouble.” 

Highly astonished and grateful at receiving a 
large tip for no obvious reason (rather a mistake on 
my part), the man was profuse in promising to make 
every arrangement for my comfort. Even when I 
asked for a few cushions, he dissembled his scorn 
and agreed to put them in. 

“And mind you don’t sit up,” I said as I left 
him. 

“ I’m not likely to sit up if I’m not obliged,” he 
answered. “ Hope you’ll have good sport, sir.” 

From the harbour I made my way straight to the 
Golden House. The colonel was rather surprised 
to see me again so soon, but when I told him I 
came on business, he put his occupations on one 
side and listened to me. 

I began with some anxiety, for if he suspected 

23 , 119 


A MAN OF MARK 


my good faith all would be lost. However, I was 
always a good hand at a lie, and the colonel was 
not the President. 

“ I’ve come about that money question,” I said. 

“ Well, have you come to your senses ? ” he asked, 
with his habitual rudeness. 

“ I can’t give you the money — ” I went on. 

“ The devil you can’t!” he broke in. “ You sit 
there and tell me that? Do you know that if the 
soldiers don’t have money in a few hours, they’ll 
upset me? They’re ready to do it any minute. 
By Jove ! I don’t know now, when I give an or- 
der, whether I shall be obeyed or get a bullet 
through my head.” 

“Pray be calm!” said I. “You didn’t let me 
finish. ” 

“ Let you finish ! ” he cried. “ You seem to think 
jabber does everything. The end of it all is, that 
either you give me the money or I take it — and if 
you interfere, look out ! ” 

“ That was just what I was going to propose, if 
you hadn’t interrupted me,” I said quietly, but with 
inward exultation, for I saw he was just in the state 
of mind to walk eagerly into the trap I was prepar- 
ing for him. 

“ What do you mean ? ” he asked. 

I explained to him that it was impossible for me 
to give up the money. My reputation was at 
stake ; it was my duty to die in defence of that 
money — a duty which, I hastened to add, I enter- 
tained no intention of performing. 

“ But,” I went on, “ although I am bound not to 
surrender the money, I am not bound to anticipate 
a forcible seizure of it. In times of disturbance 
parties of ruffians often turn to plunder. Not even 
120 


I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 


the most rigorous precautions can guard against it. 
Now, it would be very possible that even to-night 
a band of such marauders might make an attack on 
the bank, and carry off all the money in the safe.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the colonel, “ that’s the game, is it? ” 

“ That,” I replied, “ is the game ; and a very neat 
game too, if you’ll play it properly.” 

“ And what will they say in Europe, when they 
hear the Provisional Government is looting private 
property ? ” 

“ My dear colonel, you force me to much ex- 
planation. You will, of course, not appear in the 
matter.” 

“ I should like to be there,” he remarked. “ If 
I weren’t, the men mightn’t catch the exact drift of 
the thing.” 

“ You will be there, of course, but incognito . 
Look here, colonel, it’s as plain as two peas. Give 
out that you’re going to reconnoitre the coast and 
keep an eye on The Songstress . Draw off your 
companies from the Piazza on that pretence. Then 
take fifteen or twenty men you can trust — not 
more, for it’s no use taking more than you can 
help, and resistance is out of the question. About 
two, when everything is quiet, surround the bank. 
Jones will open when you knock. Don’t hurt him, 
but take him outside and keep him quiet. Go in 
and take the money. Here’s the key of the safe. 
Then, if you like, set fire to the place.” 

“ Bravo, my boy ! ” said the colonel. “ There’s 
stuff in you after all. Upon my word, I was afraid 
you were going to turn virtuous.” 

I laughed as wickedly as I could. 

“ And what are you going to get out of it ? ” he 
said. “ I suppose that’s coming next ? ” 

121 


A MAN OF MARK 


As the reader knows, I wasn’t going to get any- 
thing out of it, except myself and the signorina. 
But it wouldn’t do to tell the colonel that; he 
would not believe in disinterested conduct. So I 
bargained with him for a douceur of thirty thousand 
dollars, which he promised so readily that I strongly 
doubted whether he ever meant to pay it. 

44 Do you think there’s any danger of Whitting- 
ham making an attack while we’re engaged in the 
job?” 

The colonel was, in common parlance, getting 
rather warmer than I liked. 

It was necessary to mislead him. 

44 1 don’t think so,” I replied. 44 He can’t possi- 
bly have organized much of a party here yet. 
There’s some discontent, no doubt, but not enough 
for him to rely on.” 

44 There’s plenty of discontent,” said the colonel. 

44 There won’t be in a couple of hours.” 

44 Why not ? ” 

44 Why, because you’re going down to the bar- 
racks to announce a fresh instalment of pay to the 
troops to-morrow morning — a handsome instal- 
ment.” 

44 Yes,” said he thoughtfully, 44 that ought to 
keep them quiet for one night. Fact is, they don’t 
care twopence either for me or Whittingham ; and 
if they think they’ll get more out of me they’ll stick 
to me.” 

Of course I assented. Indeed, it was true enough 
as long as the President was not on the spot; 
but I thought privately that the colonel did not 
allow enough for his rival’s personal influence 
and prestige, if he once got face to face with the 
troops. 


122 


I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 


“ Yes,” the colonel went on, 44 I’ll do that ; and 
what’s more, I’ll put the people in good humour by 
sending down orders for free drink in the Piazza 
to-night.” 

44 Delightfully old-fashioned and baronial,” I re- 
marked. 44 1 think it’s a good idea. Have a bon- 
fire, and make it complete. I don’t suppose Whit- 
tingham dreams of any attempt, but it will make 
the riot even more plausible.” 

44 At any rate, they’ll all be too drunk to make 
trouble,” said he. 

“Well, that’s about all, isn’t it?” said I. 44 1 
shall be off. I’ve got to write to my directors and 
ask instructions for the investment of the money.” 

44 You’ll live to be hanged, Martin,” said the 
colonel, with evident admiration. 

44 Not by you, eh, colonel? Whatever might 
have happened if I’d been obstinate ! Hope I shall 
survive to dance at your wedding, anyhow. Less 
than a week now ! ” 

44 Yes,” said he, 44 it’s Sunday (though, by Jove! 
I’d forgotten it), and next Saturday’s the day ! ” 

He really looked quite the happy bridegroom as 
he said this, and I left him to contemplate his bliss. 

44 1 would bet ten to one that day never comes,” 
I thought, as I walked away. 44 Even if I don’t 
win, I’ll back the President to be back before 
that.” 

The colonel’s greed had triumphed over his wits, 
and he had fallen into my snare with greater readi- 
ness than I could have hoped. The question re- 
mained, What would the President do when he got 
the signorina’s letter ? It may conduce to a better 
understanding of the position if I tell what that 
letter was. She gave it me to read over, after we 
123 


A MAN OF MARK 


had compiled it together, and I still have my copy. 
It ran as follows : 

“ I can hardly hope you will trust me again, but 
if I betrayed you, you drove me to it. I have 
given them your money; it is in the bank now. 
M. refuses to give it up, and the C. means to take 
it to-night. He will have only a few men, the rest 
not near. He will be at the bank at two, with 
about twenty men. Take your own measures. All 
here favour you. He threatens me violence unless 
I marry him at once. He watches The Songstress , 
but if you can leave her at anchor and land in a 
boat there will be no suspicion. I swear this is 
true ; do not punish me more by disbelieving me. 
I make no protest. But if you come back to me I 
will give you, in return for pardon, anything you 
ask / Christina. 

“ P. S. — M. and the C. are on bad terms, and M. 
will not be active against you.” 

Upon the whole I thought this would bring him. 
I doubted whether he would believe very much in 
it, but it looked probable (indeed, it was word for 
word true, as far as it went), and held out a bait 
that he would find it hard to resist. Again, he was 
so fond of a bold stroke, and so devoid of fear, that 
it was very likely he could come and see if it were 
true. If, as we suspected, he already had a consid- 
erable body of adherents on shore, he could land and 
reconnoitre without very great danger of falling into 
the colonel’s hands. Finally, even if he didn’t 
come, we hoped the letter would be enough to 
divert his attention from any thought of fugitive 
boats and runaway lovers. I could have made the 
124 


I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 

terms of it even more alluring, but the signorina, 
with that extraordinarily distorted morality dis- 
tinctive of her sex, refused to swear to anything 
literally untrue in a letter which was itself from be- 
ginning to end a monumental falsehood; though 
not a student of ethics, she was keenly alive to the 
distinction between the eocpressio falsi and the sup - 
pressio veri . The only passage she doubted about 
was the last, “ If you come back to me.” “ But 
then he won’t come back to me if I’m not there ! ” 
she exclaimed triumphantly. What happened to 
him after he landed — whether he cooked the 
colonel’s goose or the colonel cooked his — I really 
could not afford to consider. As a matter of per- 
sonal preference, I should have liked the former, 
but I did not allow any such considerations to in- 
fluence my conduct. My only hope was that the 
killing would take long enough to leave time for 
our unobtrusive exit. At the same time, as a 
matter of betting, I would have laid long odds 
against McGregor. 

To my mind it is nearly as difficult to be con- 
sistently selfish as to be absolutely unselfish. I 
had, at this crisis, every inducement to concentrate 
all my efforts on myself, but I could not get Jones 
out of my head. It was certainly improbable that 
Jones would try to resist the marauding party; but 
neither the colonel nor his chosen band were likely 
to be scrupulous, and it was impossible not to see 
that Jones might get a bullet through his head; in- 
deed, I fancied such a step would rather commend 
itself to the colonel, as giving a bona fide look to 
the affair. Jones had often been a cause of great 
inconvenience to me, but I didn’t wish to have his 
death on my conscience, so I was very glad when I 
125 


A MAN OF MARK 


happened to meet him on my way back from the 
Golden House, and seized the opportunity of giv- 
ing him a friendly hint. 

I took him and set him down beside me on a 
bench in the Piazza. 

I was in no way disturbed by the curious glances 
of three soldiers who were evidently charged to 
keep an eye on the bank and my dealings with it. 

I began by pledging Jones to absolute secrecy, 
and then I intimated to him, in a roundabout way, 
that the colonel and I were both very apprehensive 
of an attack on the bank. 

“ The town,” I said, “ is in a most unsettled con- 
dition, and many dangerous characters are about. 
Under these circumstances I have felt compelled 
to leave the defence of our property in the hands 
of the Government. I have formally intimated to 
the authorities that we shall hold them responsible 
for any loss occasioned to us by public disorder. 
The colonel, in the name of the Government, has 
accepted that responsibility. I therefore desire to 
tell you, Mr. Jones, that, in the lamentable event 
of any attack on the bank, it will not be expected 
of you to expose your life by resistance. Such a 
sacrifice would be both uncalled for and useless; 
and I must instruct you that the Government in- 
sists that their measures shall not be put in danger 
of frustration by any rash conduct on our part. I 
am unable to be at the bank this evening; but in 
the event of any trouble you will oblige me by not 
attempting to meet force by force. You will yield, 
and we shall rely on our remedy against the Gov- 
ernment in case of loss.” 

These instructions so fully agreed with the natural 
bent of Jones’ mind that he readily acquiesced in 
126 


I WORK UPON HUMAN NATURE 


them and expressed high appreciation of my fore- 
sight. 

“ Take care of yourself and Mrs. Jones, my dear 
fellow,” I concluded ; “ that is all you have to do, 
and I shall be satisfied.” 

I parted from him affectionately, wondering if 
my path in life would ever cross the honest, stupid 
old fellow’s again, and heartily hoping that his for- 
tune would soon take him out of the rogue’s nest 
in which he had been dwelling. 


127 


CHAPTER XIV 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 

The night came on, fair and still, clear and star-lit ; 
but there was no moon and, outside the immediate 
neighbourhood of the main streets, the darkness was 
enough to favour our hope of escaping notice with- 
out being so intense as to embarrass our footsteps. 
Everything, in fact, seemed to be on our side, and 
I was full of buoyant confidence as I drank a last 
solitary glass to the success of our enterprise, put 
my revolver in my pocket, and, on the stroke of 
midnight, stole from my lodgings. I looked up 
toward the bank and dimly descried three or four 
motionless figures, whom I took to be sentries 
guarding the treasure. The street itself was almost 
deserted, but from where I stood I could see the 
Piazza crowded with a throng of people whose 
shouts and songs told me that the colonel’s hospi- 
tality was being fully appreciated. There was 
dancing going on to the strains of the military 
band, and every sign showed that our good citizens 
intended, in familiar phrase, to make a night of it. 

I walked swiftly and silently down to the jetty. 
Yes, the boat was all right! I looked to her fires, 
and left her moored by one rope ready to be 
launched into the calm black sea in an instant. 
Then I strolled along by the harbour side. Here I 
met a couple of sentries. Innocently I entered into 
conversation with them, condoling on their hard 
fate in being kept on duty while pleasure was at the 
128 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 


helm in the Piazza. Gently deprecating such ex- 
cess of caution, I pointed out to them the stationary 
lights of The Songstress four or five miles out to 
sea, and with a respectful smile at the colonel’s un- 
easiness, left the seed I had sown to grow in pre- 
pared soil. I dared do no more, and had to 
trust for the rest of their natural inclination to the 
neglect of duty. 

When I got back to the bottom of Liberty 
Street, I ensconced myself in the shelter of a little 
group of trees which stood at one side of the road- 
way. Just across the road, which ran at right 
angles to the street, the wood began, and a quarter 
of an hour’s walk through its shades would bring 
us to the jetty where the boat lay. My trees made 
a perfect screen, and here I stood awaiting events. 
For some time nothing was audible but an ever- 
increasing tumult of joviality from the Piazza. But 
after about twenty minutes I awoke to the fact 
that a constant dribble of men, singly or in pairs, 
had begun to flow past me from the Piazza, down 
Liberty Street, across the road behind me, and into 
the wood. Some were in uniform, others dressed 
in common clothes; one or two I recognised as 
members of Johnny Carr’s missing band. The 
strong contrast between the prevailing revelry and 
the stealthy, cautious air of these passers-by would 
alone have suggested that they were bent on busi- 
ness ; putting two and two together I had not the 
least doubt that they were the President’s adherents 
making their way down to the water’s edge to re- 
ceive their chief. So he was coming; the letter 
had done its work ! Some fifty or more must have 
come and gone before the stream ceased, and I re- 
flected, with great satisfaction, that the colonel was 
129 


A MAN OF MARK 

likely to have his hands very full in the next hour 
or two. 

Half an hour or so passed uneventfully ; the 
bonfire still blazed; the songs and dancing were 
still in full swing. I was close upon the fearful 
hour of two, when, looking from my hiding-place, 
I saw a slight figure in black coming quickly and 
fearfully along the road. 

I recognised the signorina at once, as I should 
recognise her any day among a thousand ; and, as 
she paused nearly opposite where I was, I gently 
called her name and showed myself for a moment. 
She ran to me at once. 

“ Is it all right? ” she asked breathlessly. 

“We shall see in a moment,” said I. “The 
attack is coming off ; it will begin directly.” 

But the attack was not the next thing we saw. 
We had both retreated again to the friendly 
shadow whence we could see without being seen. 
Hardly had we settled ourselves than the signorina 
whispered to me, pointing across the road to the 
wood : 

“ What’s that, Jack? ” 

I followed the line of her finger and made out a 
row of figures standing motionless and still on the 
very edge of the wood. It was too dark to dis- 
tinguish individuals ; but, even as we looked, the 
silent air wafted to our eager ears a low-voiced 
word of command : 

“ Mind, not a sound till I give the word.” 

“The President!” exclaimed the signorina, in a 
loud whisper. 

“ Hush, or he’ll hear,” said I, “ and we’re 
done.” 

Clearly nothing would happen from that quarter 
130 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 

till it was called forth by events in the opposite 
direction. The signorina was strongly agitated; 
she clung to me closely, and I saw with alarm that 
the very proximity of the man she stood in such 
awe of was too much for her composure. When I 
had soothed, and I fear half-frightened, her into 
stillness, I again turned my eyes toward the Piazza. 
The fire had at last flickered out and the revels 
seemed on the wane. Suddenly a body of men 
appeared in close order, marching down the street 
toward the bank. We stood perhaps a hundred 
yards from that building, which was, in its turn, 
about two hundred from the Piazza. Steadily 
they came along; no sound reached us from the 
wood. 

“This is getting interesting,” I said. “There’ll 
be trouble soon.” 

As near as I could see, the colonel’s band, for 
such it was, no doubt, did not number more than 
five-and-twenty at the outside. Now they were at 
the bank. I could hardly see what happened, but 
there seemed to be a moment’s pause; probably 
someone had knocked and they were waiting. A 
second later a loud shout rang through the street 
and I saw a group of figures crowding round the 
door and pushing a way into my poor bank. 

“ The gods preserve Jones ! ” I whispered. “ I 
hope the old fool won’t try to stop them.” 

As I spoke, I heard a short, sharp order from 
behind, “Now! Charge!” 

As the word was given another body of fifty or 
more rushed by us full tilt, and at their head we 
saw the President, sword in hand, running like a 
young man and beckoning his men on. Up the 
street they swept. Involuntarily we waited a mo- 
131 


A MAN OF MARK 


ment to watch them. Just as they came near the 
bank they sent up a shout : 

“ The President ! the President ! Death to 
traitors ! ” 

Then there was a volley, and they closed round 
the building. 

“ Now for our turn, Christina,” said I. 

She grasped my arm tightly, and we sped across 
the road and into the wood. It seemed darker 
than when I came through before, or perhaps my 
eyes were dazzled by the glare of the street lamps. 
But still we got along pretty well, I helping my 
companion with all my power. 

“ Can we do it ? ” she gasped. 

“ Please God,” said I; “a clear quarter of an 
hour will do it, and they ought to take that to 
finish off the colonel.” For I had little doubt of 
the issue of that melee . 

On we sped, and already we could see the 
twinkle of the waves through the thinning trees. 
Five hundred yards more, and there lay life and 
liberty and love ! 

Well, of course, I might have known. Every- 
thing had gone so smoothly up to now, that any 
student of the laws of chance could have foretold 
that fortune was only delaying the inevitable slap 
in the face. A plan that seemed wild and risky 
had proved in the result as effectual as the wisest 
scheme. By a natural principle of compensation, 
the simplest obstacle was to bring us to grief. 
“There’s many a slip,” says the proverb. Very 
likely ! One was enough for our business. For 
just as we neared the edge of the wood, just as our 
eyes were gladdened by the full sight of the sea 
across the intervening patch of bare land, the sig- 
132 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 


norina gave a cry of pain and, in spite of my arm, 
fell heavily to the ground. In a moment I was on 
my knees by her side. An old root growing out 
of the ground ! That was all ! And there lay my 
dear girl white and still. 

“ What is it, sweet ? ” I whispered. 

“ My ankle ! ” she murmured ; “ O Jack, it hurts 
so ! ” and with that she fainted. 

Half an hour — thirty mortal (but seemingly im- 
mortal) minutes I knelt by her side ministering to 
her. I bound up the poor foot, gave her brandy 
from my flask. I fanned her face with my hand- 
kerchief. In a few minutes she came to, but only, 
poor child, to sob with her bitter pain. Move she 
could not, and would not. Again and again she 
entreated me to go and leave her. At last I per- 
suaded her to try and bear the agony of being car- 
ried in my arms the rest of the way. I raised her 
as gently as I could, wrung to the heart by her 
gallantly stifled groan, and slowly and painfully I 
made my way, thus burdened, to the edge of the 
wood. There were no sentries in sight, and with a 
new spasm of hope I crossed the open land and 
neared the little wicket gate that led to the jetty. 
A sharp turn came just before we reached it, and, 
as I rounded this with the signorina lying yet in 
my arms, I saw a horse and a man standing by the 
gate. The horse was flecked with foam and had 
been ridden furiously. The man was calm and 
cool. Of course he was ! It was the President ! 

My hands were full with my burden, and before 
I could do anything, I saw the muzzle of his re- 
volver pointed full — At me? Oh, no ! At the 
signorina ! 

“ If you move a step I shoot her through the 

133 


A MAN OF MARK 

heart, Martin,” he said, in the quietest voice 
imaginable. 

The signorina looked up as she heard his voice. 

“ Put me down, Jack ! It’s no use,” she said ; 
“ I knew how it would be.” 

I did not put her down, but I stood there 
helpless, rooted to the ground. 

“ What’s the matter with her ? ” he said. 

“ Fell and sprained her ankle,” I replied. 

“Come, Martin,” said he, “it’s no go, and you 
know it. A near thing; but you’ve just lost.” 

“ Are you going to stop us ? ” I said. 

“ Of course I am,” said he. 

“Let me put her down, and we’ll have a fair 
fight.” 

He shook his head. 

“ All very well for young men,” he said. “ At 
my age, if a man holds trumps he keeps them. ” 

“ How long have you been here ? ” 

“ About two minutes. When I didn’t see you 
at the bank I thought something was up, so I 
galloped on to her house. No one there ! So I 
came on here. A good shot, eh ? ” 

The fall had done it. But for that we should 
have been safe. 

“Well?” he said. 

In the bitterness of my heart I could hardly 
speak. But I was not going to play either the 
cur or the fool, so I said : 

“Your trick, sir, and therefore your lead! I 
must do what you tell me.” 

“ Honor bright, Martin ? ” 

“ Yes,” said I ; “ I give you my word. Take the 
revolver if you like,” and I nodded my head to the 
pocket where it lay. 


134 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 


“No,” he said, “I trust you.” 

“ I bar a rescue,” said I. 

“ There will be no rescue,” said he grimly. 

“ If the colonel comes ” 

“The colonel won’t come,” he said. “Whose 
house is that ? ” 

It was my boatman’s. 

“ Bring her there. Poor child, she suffers ! ” 

We knocked up the boatman, who thus did not 
get his night’s rest after all. His astonishment may 
be imagined. 

4 4 Have you a bed ? ” said the President. 

44 Yes,” he stammered, recognising his interloc- 
utor. 

44 Then carry her up, Martin ; and you, send your 
wife to her.” 

I took her up, and laid her gently on the bed. 
The President followed me. Then we went down- 
stairs again into the little parlor. 

44 Let us have a talk,” he said ; and he added to the 
man, 44 Give us some brandy, quick, and then go.” 

He was obeyed, and we were left alone with the 
dim light of a single candle. 

The President sat down and began to smoke. 
He offered me a cigar and I took it, but he said 
nothing. I was surprised at his leisurely, abstracted 
air. Apparently he had nothing in the world to 
do but sit and keep me company. 

44 If your Excellency,” said I, instinctively giving 
him his old title, 44 has business elsewhere you can 
leave me safely. I shall not break my word. ’ ’ 

“I know that — I know that,” he answered. 
44 But I’d rather stay here; I want to have a talk.” 

44 But aren’t there some things to settle up in the 
town ? ” 


24 


135 


A MAN OF MARK 


“The doctors doing all that,” he said. “You 
see, there’s no danger now. There’s no one left to 
lead them against me.” 

“ Then the colonel is ” 

“Yes,” he said gravely, “he is dead. I shot 
him.” 

“ In the attack ? ” 

“Not exactly; the fighting was over. Avery 
short affair, Martin. They never had a chance; 
and as soon as two or three had fallen and the rest 
saw me, they threw up the sponge.” 

“ And the colonel ? ” 

“He fought well. He killed two of my fel- 
lows ; then a lot of them flung themselves on him 
and disarmed him.” 

“ And you killed him in cold blood ? ” 

The President smiled slightly. 

“Six men fell in that affair — five besides the 
colonel. Does it strike you that you, in fact, 
killed the five to enable you to run away with the 
girl you loved ? ” 

It hadn’t struck me in that light, but it was 
quite irrelevant. 

“ But for your scheme I should have come back 
without a blow,” he continued ; “ but then I should 
have shot McGregor just the same.” 

“ Because he led the revolt ? ” 

“ Because,” said the President, “he has been a 
traitor from the beginning even to the end — be- 
cause he tried to rob me of all I held dear in the 
world. If you like,” he added, with a shrug, “ be- 
cause he stood between me and my will. So I 
went up to him and told him his hour was come, 
and I shot him through the head. He died like a 
man, Martin ; I will say that.” 

136 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 


I could not pretend to regret the dead man. 
Indeed, I had been near doing the same deed my- 
self. But I shrank before this calm ruthlessness. 

Another long pause followed. Then the Presi- 
dent said : 

“ I am sorry for all this, Martin — sorry you and 
I came to blows.” 

“ You played me false about the money,” I said 
bitterly. 

“Yes, yes,” he answered gently; “ I don’t blame 
you. You were bound to me by no ties. Of 
course you saw my plan ? ” 

“ I supposed your Excellency meant to keep the 
money and throw me over.” 

“Not altogether,” he said. “Of course I was 
bound to have the money. But it was the other 
thing, you know. As far as the money went I 
would have taken care you came to no harm.” 

“ What was it, then ? ” 

“ I thought you understood all along,” he said, 
with some surprise. “ I saw you were my rival 
with Christina, and my game was to drive you out 
of the country by making the place too hot for you.” 

“ She told me you didn’t suspect about me and 
her till quite the end.” 

“ Did she ? ” he answered, with a smile. “ I 
must be getting clever to deceive two such wide- 
awake, young people. Of course I saw it all along. 
But you had more grit than I thought. I’ve never 
been so nearly done by any man as by you.” 

“ But for luck you would have been,” said I. 

“Yes, but I count luck as one of my resources,” 
he replied. 

“ Well, what are you going to do now ? ” 

He took no notice, but went on. 

137 


A MAN OF MARK 


“You played too high. It was all or nothing 
with you, just as it is with me. But for that we 
could have stood together. I’m sorry, Martin ; I 
like you, you know.” 

For the life of me I had never been able to help 
liking him. 

“But likings mustn’t interfere with duty,” he 
went on, smiling. “ What claim have you at my 
hands ? ” 

“ Decent burial, I suppose,” I answered. 

He got up and paced the room for a moment or 
two. I waited with some anxiety, for life is worth 
something to a young man, even when things look 
blackest, and I never was a hero. 

“ I make you this offer,” he said at last. “ Your 
boat lies there, ready. Get into her and go, other- 
wise ” 

“ I see,” said I. “ And you will marry her ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said. 

“ Against her will ? ” 

He looked at me with something like pity. 

“ Who can tell what a woman’s will will be in a 
week? In less than that she will marry me 
cheerfully. I hope you may grieve as short a time 
as she will.” 

In my inmost heart I knew it was true. I had 
staked everything, not for a woman’s love, but for 
the whim of a girl ! For a moment it was too 
hard for me, and I bowed my head on the table by 
me and hid my face. 

Then he came and put his hand on mine, and 
said: 

“ Yes, Martin ; young and old, we are all alike. 
They’re not worth quarrelling for. But Nature’s 
too strong.” 


138 


FAREWELL TO AUREATALAND 


“ May I see her before I go ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes,” he said. 

44 Alone ? ” 

44 Yes,” he said once more. 44 Go now — if she 
can see you.” 

I went up and cautiously opened the door. The 
signorina was lying on the bed, with a shawl over 
her. She seemed to be asleep. I bent over her 
and kissed her. She opened her eyes, and said, in 
a weary voice : 

44 Is it you, Jack? ” 

44 Yes, my darling,” said I. 44 1 am going. I 
must go or die ; and whether I go or die, I must 
be alone.” 

She was strangely quiet — even apathetic. As I 
knelt down by her she raised herself, and took my 
face between her hands and kissed me — not pas- 
sionately, but tenderly. 

44 My poor Jack ! ” she said ; 44 it was no use, 
dear. It is no use to fight against him.” 

Here was her strange subjection to that influ- 
ence again. 

44 You love me ? ” I cried, in my pain. 

44 Yes,” she said, 44 but I am very tired; and he 
will be good to me.” 

Without another word 1 went from her, with the 
bitter knowledge that my great grief found but a 
pale reflection in her heart. 

44 1 am ready to go,” I said to the President. 

44 Come, then,” he replied. 44 Here, take these, 
you may want them,” and he thrust a bundle of 
notes into my hand (some of my own from the 
bank I afterward discovered). 

Arrived at the boat, I got in mechanically and 
made all preparations for the start. 

139 


A MAN OF MARK 


Then the President took my hand. 

“ Good-bye, Jack Martin, and good luck. Some 
day we may meet again. Just now there’s no 
room for us both here. You bear no malice ? ” 

“No, sir,” said I. “A fair fight, and you’ve 
won.” 

As I was pushing off, he added : 

“ When you arrive, send me word.” 

I nodded silently. 

“ Good-bye, and good luck, ” he said again. 

I turned the boat’s head out to sea, and went 
forth on my lonely way into the night. 


140 


CHAPTER XV 


A DIPLOMATIC ARRANGEMENT 

As far as I am concerned, this story has now 
reached an end. With my departure from Aure- 
ataland, I re-entered the world of humdrum life, 
and since that memorable night in 1884 , nothing 
has befallen me worthy of a polite reader’s atten- 
tion. I have endured the drudgery incident to 
earning a living ; I have enjoyed the relaxations 
every wise man makes for himself. But I should 
be guilty of unpardonable egotism if I supposed 
that I myself was the only, or the most, interesting 
subject presented in the foregoing pages, and I feel 
I shall merely be doing my duty in briefly record- 
ing the facts in my possession concerning the other 
persons who have figured in this record and the 
country where its scene was laid. 

I did not, of course, return to England on leav- 
ing Aureataland. I had no desire to explain in per- 
son to the directors all the facts with which they will 
now be in a position to acquaint themselves. I was 
conscious that, at the last at all events, I had rather 
subordinated their interests to my own necessities, 
and I knew well that my conduct would not meet 
with the indulgent judgment that it perhaps re- 
quires. After all, men who have lost three hun- 
dred thousand dollars can hardly be expected to be 
impartial, and I saw no reason for submitting my- 
self to a biased tribunal. I preferred to seek my 
fortune in a fresh country (and, I may add, under 
141 


A MAN OF MARK 


a fresh name), and I am happy to say that my pros- 
perity in the land of my adoption has gone far to 
justify the President’s favourable estimate of my 
financial abilities. My sudden disappearance ex- 
cited some remark, and people were even found 
to insinuate that the dollars went the same way as 
I did. I have never troubled myself to contradict 
these scandalous rumours, being content to rely on 
the handsome vindication from this charge which 
the President published. In addressing the House 
of Assembly shortly after his resumption of power, 
he referred at length to the circumstances attendant 
on the late revolution, and remarked that although 
he was unable to acquit Mr. Martin of most un- 
justifiable intrigues with the rebels, yet he was in a 
position to assure them, as he had already assured 
those to whom Mr. Martin was primarily responsi- 
ble, that that gentleman’s hasty flight was dictated 
solely by a consciousness of political guilt, and that, 
in money matters, Mr. Martin’s hands were as clean 
as his own. The reproach that had fallen on the 
fair fame of Aureataland in this matter was due not 
to that able but misguided young man, but to those 
unprincipled persons who, in the pursuit of their 
designs, had not hesitated to plunder and despoil 
friendly traders, established in the country under 
the sanction of public faith. 

The reproach to which his Excellency eloquently 
referred consisted in the fact that not a cent of 
those three hundred thousand dollars which lay in 
the bank that night was ever seen again ! The 
theory was that the colonel had made away with 
them, and the President took great pains to prove 
that under the law of nations the restored Govern- 
ment could not be held responsible for this occur- 
142 


A DIPLOMATIC ARRANGEMENT 


rence. I know as little about the law of nations as 
the President himself, but I felt quite sure that 
whatever that exalted code might say (and it gen- 
erally seems to justify the conduct of all parties 
alike), none of that money would ever find its way 
back to the directors’ pockets. In this matter I 
must say his Excellency behaved to me with scru- 
pulous consideration; not a word passed his lips 
about the second loan, about that unlucky cable, 
or any other dealings with the money. For all he 
said, my account of the matter, posted to the di- 
rectors immediately after my departure, stood un- 
impeached. The directors, however, took a view 
opposed to his Excellency’s, and relations became 
so strained that they were contemplating the with- 
drawal of their business from Whittingham alto- 
gether, when events occurred which modified their 
action. Before I lay down my pen I must give 
some account of these matters, and I cannot do so 
better than by inserting a letter which I had the 
honour to receive from his Excellency, some two 
years after I last saw him. I had obeyed his wish 
in communicating my address to him, but up to 
this time had received only a short but friendly 
note, acquainting me with the fact of his marriage 
to the signorina, and expressing good wishes for my 
welfare in my new sphere of action. The matters 
to which the President refers became to some ex- 
tent public property soon afterward, but certain 
other terms of the arrangement are now given to 
the world for the first time. 

The letter ran as follows : 

“ My Dear Martin : As an old inhabitant of 
Aureataland you will be interested in the news I 
143 


A MAN OF MARK 


have to tell you. I also take pleasure in hoping 
that in spite of bygone differences, your friendly 
feelings toward myself will make you glad to hear 
news of my fortunes. 

“ You are no doubt acquainted generally with the 
course of events here since you left us. As regards 
private friends, I have not indeed much to tell you. 
You will not be surprised to learn that Johnny 
Carr (who always speaks of you with the utmost 
regard) has done the most sensible thing he ever 
did in his life in making Donna Antonia his wife. 
She is a thoroughly good girl, although she seems 
to have a very foolish prejudice against Christina. 
I was able to assist the young people’s plans by the 
gift of the late Colonel McGregor’s estates, which 
under our law passed to the head of the state on 
that gentleman’s execution for high treason. You 
will be amused to hear of another marriage in our 
circle. The doctor and Mme. Devarges have made 
a match of it, and society rejoices to think it has 
now heard the last of the late monsieur and his 
patriotic sufferings. Jones, I suppose you know, 
left us about a year ago. The poor old fellow never 
recovered from his fright on that night, to say noth- 
ing of the cold he caught in your draughty coal- 
cellar, where he took refuge. The bank relieved 
him in response to his urgent petitions, and they’ve 
sent us out a young Puritan, to whom it would be 
quite in vain to apply for a timely little loan. 

“ I wish I could give you as satisfactory an ac- 
count of public affairs. You were more or less 
behind the scenes over here, so you know that to 
keep the machine going is by no means an easy task. 
I have kept it going, single-handed, for fifteen years, 
and though it’s the custom to call me a mere ad- 
144 


A DIPLOMATIC ARRANGEMENT 


venturer (and I don’t say that’s wrong), upon my 
word I think I’ve given them a pretty decent Gov- 
ernment. But I’ve had enough of it by now. The 
fact is, my dear Martin, I’m not so young as I was. 
In years I’m not much past middle age, but I’ve 
had the devil of a life of it, and I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if old Marcus Whittingham’s lease was pretty 
nearly up. At any rate, my only chance, so An- 
derson tells me, is to get rest, and I’m going to 
give myself that chance. I had thought at first 
of trying to find a successor (as I have been de- 
nied an heir of my body), and I thought of you. 
But, while I was considering this, I received a con- 
fidential proposal from the Government of 

[here the President named the state of which Au- 
reataland had formed part]. They were very anx- 
ious to get back their province ; at the same time, 
they were not at all anxious to try conclusions w ith 
me again. In short, they offered, if Aureataland 
would come back, a guarantee of local autonomy 
and full freedom ; they would take on themselves 
the burden of the debt, and last, but not least, they 
would offer the present President of the Republic 
a compensation of five hundred thousand dollars. 

“ I have not yet finally accepted the offer, but I 
am going to do so — obtaining, as a matter of form, 
the sanction of the Assembly. I have made them 
double their offer to me, but in the public docu- 
ments the money is to stand at the original figure. 
This recognition of my services, together with my 
little savings (restored, my dear Martin, to the 
wash-stand), will make me pretty comfortable in my 
old age, and leave a competence for my widow. 
Aureataland has had a run alone ; if there had been 
any grit in the people they would have made a 
145 


A MAN OF MARK 


nation of themselves. There isn’t any, and I’m 
not going to slave myself for them any longer. 
No doubt they’ll be very well treated, and to tell 
the truth, I don’t much care if they aren’t. After 
all, they’re a mongrel lot. 

“ I know you’ll be pleased to hear of this arrange- 
ment, as it gives your old masters a better chance 
of getting their money, for, between ourselves, 
they’d never have got it out of me. At the risk of 
shocking your feelings, I must confess that your 
revolution only postponed the day of repudia- 
tion. 

“ I hoped to have asked you some day to rejoin 
us here. As matters stand, I am more likely to 
come and find you; for, when released, Christina 
and I are going to bend our steps to the States. 
And we hope to come soon. There’s a little diffi- 
culty outstanding about the terms on which the 
Golden House and my other property are to pass 
to the new Government ; this I hope to compromise 
by abating half my claim in private, and giving it 
all up in public. Also, I have had to bargain for 
the recognition of Johnny Carr’s rights to the col- 
onel’s goods. When all this is settled there will be 
nothing to keep me, and I shall leave here without 
much reluctance. The first man I shall come and 
see is you, and we’ll have some frolics together, if 
my old carcass holds out. But the truth is, my boy, 
I’m not the man I was. I’ve put too much steam 
on all my life, and I must pull up now, or the boiler 
will burst. 

“ Christina sends her love. She is as anxious to 
see you as I am. But you must wait till I am dead 
to make love to her. Ever your sincere friend, 
“Marcus W. Whittingham.” 

146 


A DIPLOMATIC ARRANGEMENT 


As I write, I hear that the arrangement is to be 
carried out. So ends Aureataland’s brief history as 
a nation; so ends the story of her national debt, 
more happily than I ever thought it would. I con- 
fess to a tender recollection of the sunny, cheerful, 
lazy, dishonest little place, where I spent four such 
eventful years. Perhaps I love it because my 
romance was played there, as I should love any 
place where I had seen the signorina. For I am 
not cured. I don’t go about moaning — I enjoy life. 
But, in spite of my affection for the President, 
hardly a day passes that I don’t curse that accursed 
tree-root. 

And she ? what does she feel ? 

I don’t know. I don’t think I ever did know. 
But I have had a note from her, and this is what 
she says: 

“Fancy seeing old Jack again — poor forsaken 
Jack ! Marcus is very kind (but very ill, poor fel- 
low); but I shall like to see you, Jack. Do you 
remember what I was like ? I’m still rather pretty. 
This is in confidence, Jack. Marcus thinks you’ll 

run away from us, now we are coming to town 

[that’s where I live]. But I don’t think you will. 

“Please meet me at the depot, Jack, 12.15 train. 
Marcus is coming by a later one, so I shall be des- 
olate if you don’t come. And bring that white rose 
with you. Unless you produce it, I won’t speak 
to you. Christina.” 

Well, with another man’s wife, this is rather em- 
barrassing. But a business man can’t leave the 
place where his business is because a foolish girl 
insists on coming there. 

147 


A MAN OF MARK 


And as I am here, I may as well be civi 
to meet her. And, oh, well ! as I happei 
the thing, I may as well take it with me. 
do any harm. 


THE END. 


[ and go 
to have 
It can’t 


148 














/ 


♦ 


i 































% 




























































. 





























































































■ 

























